Of Lions and Wolves
by crescented
Summary: "I now proclaim thee, Cersei of the House Lannister, and King Eddard of the House Stark, the First of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm husband and wife." AU.
1. i

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones; neither do I own A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **Please _review_. All your thoughts would be very much appreciated.**

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 **Chapter One**

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"Robert is dead." Jon Arryn says, his voice cracking at the last word. He threw the letter in the fire, his head hung low and shoulders slumped in weariness and grief. Robert was dear to him, after all. He and Robert were like sons to him, and though he did not say it, he loved them as his own. Their childhoods were spent in the Eyrie as Jon's ward, to train and learn the ways of the world; to learn how to fight. Robert was heir, and Ned was merely a second son. But it mattered not to Jon, anyways—he treated both of them the same.

Ned finds himself bowing his head as well, pain piercing his heart as the news sunk in. He loved Robert as a brother, and he knew Robert loved him the same. He always used to say that Ned was his _real_ brother, not Stannis and Renly. He cared not for them, and knew only that Stannis was a stiff prick and Renly a little baby prancing around the castle in Storm's End. He did not love them, and if given a choice, he would have Ned as a brother instead than the lot of them. It did not matter to him either that Ned was merely the second son.

"What—what did he die of?" He finds himself asking. He had defeated Rhaegar Targaryen in the Battle of the Trident, and already he had heard of how Robert smashed Rhaegar's ruby-encrusted breastplate with his warhammer, sending the jewels scattered in the water. The village people had already started searching for the so-called jewels, and it was reported that they had already found three out of the many. Each would be able to fetch a high price, of course, and it had the power to bring a poor man to riches if the money gained was spent wisely.

"A festered wound," Jon said wearily. "Rhaegar scathed him, and he refused to have the wound treated because of his stubbornness. By the time they cleaned and bandaged it, it was already too late. The sickness had already started."

"Damn Robert," cursed Ned. "I always told him his stubbornness would have him killed, and now it has."

They stay in silence for a while, a moment given to grieve for their lost comrade, son, brother, and friend. Ned had his hands clutched to his sides, while Jon was gripping a chair for support. _What will happen now?_ Ned thought.

"Ned," rapsed Jon, "Do you know what this means?"

"I'm afraid I do not know, my lord." Ned replied.

"The throne," Jon said. "Now that Robert is gone, no one will take it and rule. We most certainly cannot let anyone—most especially, Tywin Lannister—to take it for himself."

"You, Ned," Jon continued. "You must take it. Take the throne, and rule the Seven Kingdoms. There is no man more perfect for the job than you."

"My lord, I—" said Ned, "—can't."

"I do not know how to rule. I am a second son, and therefore never meant to rule any castle or keep. And who will rule Winterfell in my stead? Benjen is merely a child. He is to join the Night's Watch, and my loyalty is to mine own than anyone else."

"I will help you, Ned," answered Jon. "I will be your Hand. And your brother—he hasn't took any vows yet, has he? Make him see fit, then. For the good of the realm—tell him. You _need_ to take it, Ned. Robert would agree."

"I can't." Ned replied. "I—"

"I'll give you time, then." Jon decided, cutting Ned off. "Please think about it. But be quick, for we have to act as fast as we can. I'll talk to you at dawn. Make sure you've decided by then."

"You may take your leave." Jon then said, nodding at Ned. Ned bows, nods, and goes straight for the door. Arryn men were guarding outside, and he ignores them as he went on about the Keep and to the lonely godswood where he most often prayed. He liked it, there: due to the Southron men worshipping the Seven Gods, almost no one went to the godswood and used it only merely as decoration. It also meant that no one would disturb him and he would be able to think freely without distraction. Everyone, even Robert—when he was still alive—knew better than to disturb Ned while in prayer.

He couldn't be King. He had Winterfell to worry about; his impending wedding to betrothed Catelyn Tully—surely, new arrangements would be made once he was King. Jon Arryn would make sure of it, and even if he did not want to anger Hoster Tully and his brood, he would have to follow Jon in the end. Other noble houses that had lent a hand in their side of the war would surely offer brides for him to take. Catelyn Tully could marry Benjen if she did not mind. If he were to accept Jon's proposal, Benjen would take over Winterfell and would inherit it at the right age. There was still a lot of time to teach him how to rule, and Maester Luwin had always been most helpful in matters of the sort.

Robert would have him take it. He'd tell him to be sensible, to think of the good of many—but if Robert was alive, he would have taken the throne to rule the realm himself. Even if he did not want to. All Robert cared about was drinking, whoring, hunting, warring and Lyanna Stark. And Lyanna'd been kidnapped and taken hostage by Rhaegar Targaryen. He did not know where, but it was said Rhaegar took three of his most trusted men with him. Robert was filled with rage. Lyanna was meant to be his wife; his betrothed—but the Prince took her away from him. She was his one true love, he'd always say, but even if it were so Ned did not think marriage would stop Robert's whoring ways. He did not like to think ill of Robert, but it was true. His friend was too far gone to be changed.

He suddenly bumped into something—someone—, stopping his tracks and snapping him out of his thoughts. Out of instinct, his hand went out to grip an arm. He looked to see bright emerald eyes staring back at his cold, grey ones. Smooth blonde locks cascaded atop the hand holding on to his assailant's arm. Lavender oozed in the air, filling his nose with the elegant scent. Her golden lion pendant swung on her neck.

"L-Lord Stark," Cersei Lannister managed to sputter out in greeting.

Gathering and composing himself, he quickly set Cersei upright and made sure she wouldn't lose her balance before releasing his grip on her.

"My apologies, Lady Lannister," He said, bowing his head low in embarrassment. "I'm afraid I wasn't looking. I did not mean to bump into you, my lady."

Cersei's blazing green eyes took a once over on his appearance, before smiling and nodding, saying, "It is quite alright, Lord Stark. I should not have been in the way. I was simply admiring the Narrow Sea in all its glory. It is quite beautiful in the night."

"My apologies again, Lady Lannister." says he, "Would you like me to escort you back to the Keep? Being alone at nightfall proves dangerous for a lady."

"No thank you, Lord Stark," Cersei replied. "I'd rather much stay in here for a while. Peaceful, isn't it? Gives you much time to think."

"Indeed," agreed Ned. "I—May I take your leave, my lady?"

"If you must," said Cersei, turning around once more to admire the view.

Ned bowed his head, slinking off to proceed to the godswood. For some reason, he could not shake off his mind Cersei Lannister's green eyes. Her smile. And her luscious, long blonde locks. Her father had helped in the Sack of King's Landing, only joining at the last minute when they had remained neutral for most part of the war. But without them, they would not have been able to take King's Landing at all. Even if it were so, he did not agree with all of Tywin Lannister's ways. It was said that he himself had ordered Ser Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch to have Elia Martell and her children killed. He and Jon were then presented by three bodies in the throne room, covered in Lannister red cloaks to hide the blood and the gore. _Elia Martell, Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen_. Tywin Lannister considered it as a token of fealty, but he did not see the same light. Killing innocents, especially _children_ , in a such a gruesome manner was disgusting. The memory would haunt him forever. The babe Aegon's head was smashed; _crushed_ , Rhaenys' body was filled with more than fifty stab wounds, while Elia it was said had been raped then killed by The Mountain.

 _He could not let a Lannister take the throne_. If he were to accept Jon's proposal, he would rule, and would therefore be able to prevent Tywin Lannister from having any control over the way the Kingdoms are run. Jon would be his Hand, and would help him rule and take care of matters of the realm. But Tywin Lannister would not allow himself to be devoid a part in anything—he did help win the Rebellion, after all. His pride would not take it. But he could not be on the Small council. The only choice was to join both their houses in marriage. It was, no doubt, what Jon would propose in the end. Jon knew as well as he how Tywin Lannister's mind worked—he would not stop at nothing to get what he wanted for the glory of his family. And, most importantly, due to the damages the Rebellion had cost money would be needed for repair. And the Lannisters were famous for shitting _gold_.

He knew what he had to do.

Quickly, he turned around and maneuvered his way through the garden and into the labyrinth-like hallways of the Keep. It was eerily silent. No handmaidens or servants of any sort were to be found, even his men. They all must have proceeded to one of the many whorehouses of the city, owned by none other than Petyr Baelish. War can take toll on a man, after all. Robert was infamous for having as many whores as the population of King's Landing. But even without the war he had had much whores still.

"Let me in." He ordered the two guards posted in front of the doors to Jon's temporary chambers. They quickly set aside, allowing him to enter. To his surprise, Jon was not asleep. He was instead standing in front of the fire, wine in one hand. He did not turn around when Ned entered, and merely said, "I knew you would come to your senses soon enough."

"Cersei Lannister," He breathed.

"What do you mean, Ned?" asked Jon.

"The Lannisters. If I was to be King, Cersei—"

"Marriage," Jon cut him off. "Thinking ahead, are you? I've been thinking the same."

"Tywin Lannister would not doubt propose a betrothal between the both of you," explained Jon, "You are betrothed to Catelyn Tully. Your brother—Benjen—can marry her. Hoster Tully will understand. Refusing Tywin Lannister's offer will wound his pride—the Tourney of Harrenhall. We would not want to have him as an enemy."

 _Marrying his daughter was the answer_. And all he would have to tell Jon was he accepted—that he would take the throne. Tywin Lannister would be most delighted to find that his daughter would be Queen. Aerys Targaryen had rejected Cersei, for his heir should not be married to a servant's daughter. Now he would get his wish. Cersei Lannister would not merely be a Princess. She would be Queen. **His Queen**.

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 _Chapter length will increase in the next few chapters. Chapter Two will be up tomorrow!_ **Please review!** _They would be very much appreciated and taken into account._


	2. ii

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones, neither do I own A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **Chapter Two, as promised! Thank you so much for all the reviews. They fuel me to write more. :)**

 **Manni : I think so too. ;) And... :-)**

 **Magnus374 : I think the same. Tywin _knows_ how to rule, and the Seven Kingdoms would be in good disposition with him as King, tbh. :)**

 **and thank you as well to Arianna Le Fay, CoralElizabeth, Manni, Guest, sagar hussain, and Anna!**

 **I will update every _Saturday_ , but if it comes to it, even earlier. ;)**

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 **Chapter Two**

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"Who gives this woman?" The septon asked.

"I, Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock do." said her father, voice unwavering and as strong as the dark in the night.

Her crimson red Lannister cloak was then removed and replaced with a much heavier fur cloak with the Stark colours. A red leaf from the weirwood tree fell in front of her, and she wondered how the wedding planners were able to fit this much people in the Red Keep's godswood. It was always meant for decoration, anyways, as Southrons worshipped the Seven Gods instead. She stood tall and still, trying not to clutch her hands on her sides and show any weakness. Her golden locks were updoed in one of the many Southron fashions, with two braids falling to either side of her shoulders. Eddard Stark fastened the cloak with care, trying not to ruin her hair as he did. When the act was done, Cersei turned around, looking at her husband's strong, Northern grey eyes. He bent over, planting his lips onto hers. It was no surprise to her that it was ice cold, stark, and void of emotion. She did not feel anything for this man—her husband—except indifference. And she does not think she will ever love him in a lifetime of marriage. She may love their children, yes, but she will never love Eddard Stark.

 _Love is weakness. The more you love, the more you have to sacrifice and leave behind._

"I now proclaim thee, Cersei of the House Lannister, and King Eddard of the House Stark, the First of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm husband and wife."

The crowd broke out into applause, and it was then that she realized that her dream had come true. All she had ever wanted was to be Queen; _Rhaegar's_ queen, and now she was. Not to Rhaegar Targaryen, her silver-haired love, but to Eddard Stark instead; an icy, stoic man from the North. Northernmen were emotionless; unfeeling. They rarely—almost never—showed any. But she knew that Ned Stark was an honourable man, and would never hurt a woman—most especially, his wife. His honour and sense of right always came first, it was said. She had even heard from some of the ladies in court that he did not whole heartedly agree—no, he was disgusted—with what her lord father had ordered his men to do to Elia Lannister and her babes. She agreed—Elia Martell had not deserved that fate. So did her children. If she were Rhaegar's wife, would that have happened to her? Would her husband have a mistress like he did Elia? Would she be replaced for a much younger woman?

 _Queen you shall be_ , the witch had said. Her husband would have six-and-ten babes, and she would have three. Golden were their crowns and golden were their shrouds. But Eddard Stark did not have a bastard; nor was he willing to have any. The prophecy is—was—fake. T'was nothing but a witch's folly. Her husband was too honourable to degrade his wife in such a manner, more or less the _Queen_ ; and if the gods saw fit they would have more than three children.

The crowd had partially dispersed, with many already walking to the feast area on the other side of the garden. Her husband had been mute and did not comment on any of the wedding plans that were shown to him, but she knew he had wanted a simple wedding without any lavish or splendor. But her father cared not, and spent coin after coin on the wedding. He was no doubt pleased that Cersei would be queen, after all—albeit to a different king. She felt a hand slip into hers as they were guided by the guards towards the wedding feast. The act sent tingles up her spine, even if she knew that he was only keeping up appearances. But even so, it was common for highborn couples not to do so at their weddings—most did not know each other, anyways. Any appearances they would have to keep could be done after the wedding, when they had settled down and were working on producing heirs.

 _Heirs_. Sooner or later it would be the bedding ceremony, and though Cersei was technically a virgin, there were times that Jaime had come close to taking her maidenhead due to lust. He would push her skirts up and let a digit part her folds and enter her cunt as they kissed passionately; and he would continue to do so until Cersei had had her pleasure. There were times that she had wanted him to; wanted him so desperately to do so that she cared not for the consequences it might bring about. All she had ever let him do was put a finger inside her, and even that had taken moons of Jaime begging for her to allow it. She had wanted to save her maidenhead for Rhaegar Targaryen, and due to her childish fantasies, even after he had married Elia she had dreamed of him taking her and running away, having children and starting a whole new life in the Free Cities. She was willing to do anything for him, but he spared not even a single thought on her his whole life almost and had chosen Lyanna Stark over her. Elia Martell first, then Lyanna Stark. It was then that she realized that she would never have him.

The feast area slowly filled with people as they were guided to their seats atop a dais. To her right side was her father, then Tyrion, then her Uncle Kevan and his wife, and lastly, her Aunt Genna. Jaime was not present. He was in the cells, waiting for his judgement. She was to beg her husband still; to ask him to strip Jaime of his vows and cast him off to Casterly Rock. It pained her to know that Jaime, her twin, was locked up in a dungeon. Once taken of his vows, her father would have him take the Westerlands and teach him how to rule in his stead. He would also find a suitable wife for him; one that could forge alliances and ensure power for the house Lannister.

To Ned's left was Jon Arryn alone, for he did not have any living relatives left except for his brother—Benjen, was it—who was in Winterfell holding the North for him. And he could not go to King's Landing in a rush just for his brother's wedding. Only a letter was sent to her now-husband, it was said.

His hand was atop hers now, and stayed there as lords and ladies bid their well wishes and their hopes for an heir to the throne. She did not eat much—she did not want to be seen and thought of a pig by her own husband on their wedding night. Hours passed by and the number of lords and ladies did not seem to diminish. Tyrion, her wretched dwarf brother, had even come by to wish her well, and she had smiled at him for what seemed to be the first time in his life so as not to put a bad impression. It must have pained her father, having to bring him along. He should have died, and her mother should have lived. She would have been proud; seeing her daughter finally getting married. And to the king, no less.

"May I take your leave, my Queen?" asked her husband when the line had finally subsided.

"You may," said Cersei, nodding her head slightly in agreement. She was left alone as she watched as lords and ladies blabbered and talked nonstop. The feast was a grand affair; one to be remembered in the years to come. Almost every house from every part of Westeros had sent a representative. So many that she did not even know half of them. But thankfully, all she had had to do was smile at them and thank them for their good words.

She did not notice her father stand up from his seat and lean over to whisper, "The bedding ceremony is about to come. Make him Lannister heirs, and do not stop until you are sure he has gotten you with child. Satisfy him. You are the _Queen_. Do your duty."

Fear raged within her, and not even half an hour later a lord—from the Riverlands, she presumed—had shouted, "Time for the bedding ceremony!

Men stood up, and not a minute later she was already being dragged and lifted up from her seat. Her husband was nowhere to be seen, and she tried her hardest not to scream and beg as they ripped her dress like animals waiting for their supper. This was to be expected, said her Aunt Genna. She had been ravaged in her own bedding ceremony, and her husband had not even shown the slightest bit of attention towards her wellbeing when she had arrived his bedchambers. They were nearing her husband's chambers, and the men were ripping mercilessly even more. Only her small clothes were left, and they were about to rip those off too to expose her sex and her breasts to view when a strong voice said, "Stop. Let her down."

The shouting ceased, and almost immediately she was let down by the men lifting her. She covered herself as much as she could with her arms. They made way for her to pass, and it was then that she saw that the voice belonged to none other than her husband. He was standing just in front of the horde of men. He quickly walked towards her and lifted her into his arms as he said, "Leave. The bedding ceremony is over; let my wife and I be at peace."

The crowd of men quickly dispersed as Eddard turned around and walked towards his chambers. She could feel his muscled chest and chiselled physique by the way he was holding her. He let himself in with one hand, and Cersei was amazed at how easily he could do such a task while carrying her. Not that she was heavy, of course. His bedchambers were spacious; with his solar connected to it at the right side and his personal study at the left. The bath area was connected to his study, she saw as he let her down. Wine was placed on a small, round table in front of a fireplace near them, but her husband did not offer her any. She had had enough at the feast, but if offered she would have accepted, anyways.

"Most women weep during the bedding ceremony," He said, looking straight into her green orbs.

"I am not 'most women,' my King." said Cersei. Her smallclothes were thin and slightly opaque, and there was no doubt Eddard could already see through them. She had her hands at her sides and dared not cover, though, for surely he would see them anyways when they finally consummated the marriage.

"Ned," he rasped. "Call me Ned."

She finds herself looking down, a shadow of a smile on her lips. It is too late when she realizes that she should not have done so—lions should never bow down. From a young age, she was taught that Lannisters were lions, and therefore should always prevail and never show weakness. She had every right to hold herself high; to move in utmost confidence.

She feels a finger of his pull her chin up, making her look directly into his grey-eyed stare. He crashes his lips directly onto hers, kissing her slowly as she let his tongue enter her mouth. His hands moved up and down her arms, and then started to remove her smallclothes as the kiss became more hungry and passionate. By the time they both had pulled out, she was stark naked and what was left of her clothes lay scattered on the ground. Almost instinctual, she pushed herself to him and started to remove her husband's jerkin and untie his breeches, freeing his aching erection. No more than a minute later, both were as naked as their nameday. Desire was pooling in her belly, just like she used to with Jaime but there was something... different about she and her husband's coupling.

"I will make it as painless as possible, my Queen," said Eddard.

Taking ahold of her waist, he pushed her onto the bed and spread her legs wide. Her cunt was on fire, and she could feel his tongue parting her folds and lubricating her sex as a digit entered her as he did so. She resisted the urge to moan, but when a second digit joined the first along with his tongue, she could not anymore. She could feel herself building up and getting closer by the minute, and when her husband sensed it, he stopped and went onto his knees, one hand holding his manhood. Positioning his cock on her entrance, she closed her eyes tightly as she felt him penetrate her, consummating their marriage and removing her maidenhead. A sharp pain emerged from within, and she could not stop the small cry of discomfort that emerged from within her.

He moved in slow, even thrusts, leaning on her and using his two hands to pin her down and stop her from squirming. She could feel him building up and coming closer, just like she was, and his thrusts gained speed until he was already pounding her. She felt pleasure, surprisingly, and the pain of losing her virginity was only a fleeting moment. She finally exploded, riding out her pleasure as her walls tightened and her husband followed. She felt his seed fill her, and she hoped that it was enough to get her with child. She almost shouted Jaime's name, just like she used to, but this time, she used all her self-control not to.

He collapsed on top of her, and she rolled onto one side as her husband followed. His arms were left wrapped around her waist, and he did not remove them almost instantly. She was panting; and felt sore at her core. She wondered where her husband had learned to do that—did he visit the whorehouses, if there were any, in the North? Was he actually like Robert, who visited whorehouses and had pleasure with whores as a hobby? Or was he just… talented?

Feeling his hand slip off from her waist, she hears him ask, "Did I—Did I hurt you, my Queen?"

"I am... fine. And no, you did not—" "—Eddard."

"You may call me Cersei, if you wish," She continued.

"I am pleased to know that... Cersei." He replies, trying out her name as if it was foreign on his lips and it was the first time he had ever said it.

Cersei smiles, joyful that the night had turned out well and all her scares were finally crushed. This was a start—even if she did not love her king husband and he did not love her in turn. He was kind, just like they had said. He was indeed a blessing from the Seven Gods.

They were left in silence the rest of the night, and sleep took the both of them soon afterwards.

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 **Please do review and tell me what you think!** _Constructive criticism is appreciated; and any suggestions will be taken to account._


	3. iii

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones; neither do I own A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **New chapter! Thank you all for your reviews.**

 ** _magnus374_ : Thank you so much! Tbh I think my Cersei is a lil bit out of character, but I decided to portray her as she was when she was teenager, back when she wasn't as hard as she was due to Robert shaming and slandering and embarrassing her in front of the whole realm. Ned will treat her much, much better.**

 ** _Ojha_ : The story isn't finished yet, all the plotholes you may have found will be solved in the upcoming chapters. I've planned everything from start to end. I wish you would have let a few chapters go by before reviewing, the story's barely started. Nonetheless, thank you for your review! I hope you read the next few chapters and see for yourself ;) Constructive criticisms are appreciated, they help me improve the story even more.**

 ** _I.C.2014_ : It will be tackled in the next chapter. ;) Thank you!**

 ** _Vasun05_ : Thank you! And well... let's see ;)**

 **Thank you as well to expert93, CoralElizabeth, samsung 321, Calliej, RiaMarie1281, Blood Dragon XIII, and to the Guest that reviewed!**

 **Another early update! I couldn't wait to update lol. I hope this chapter suffices, it's a little bit longer lmao but only at 3100+ words.**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

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They fell into routine. Eddard went to her chambers every night to do his duty; but even then they barely talked. She did not mind—if anything, it made things simpler. She broke her fasts with him, had midday meals, and had supper as well. He was cold, aloof, and shy when it came to her but tried his best to strike conversation. Their conversations were usually short and composed of one-worded answers to questions they both had. Her husband did all the talking; sometimes she did as well but only rarely. But what she liked most was that he would always ask how she fared; it made her feel that he cared despite being busy arranging matters with Stannis Baratheon and the Tyrells, not to mention the Tullys which he had deeply upset by marrying _her_ instead of Catelyn, the firstborn daughter of Lord Hoster.

It had only been two weeks after the wedding and yet it felt like it had already been moons since it had happened. He would tell her things discussed at the Small Council at times, and she knew that he liked it whenever she gave her opinion about certain matters.

She had asked Eddard regarding Jaime; her brother, even if she knew her father had already no doubt made action. Eddard had merely told her that he had reached a decision and was to announce it soon. Realizing that she would not get her answer by pestering him, she had resolved to waiting. She did not have to wait long, however—her husband announced his verdict a day later, in the Great Hall wherein the whole court was present. He had stripped Jaime bare of his vows and removed him from the Kingsguard. He had also stripped him of his titles and lands. Her father did not utter a word, as if he was already expecting what would happen. She supposes that he had already resolved to having Tyrion as his heir even if he loathed the child because he knew Eddard would not let go of Jaime that easily. He also knew that Eddard might've sent Jaime to the Wall instead. Everyone knew that honour always came first to Eddard Stark, and that even gold could not blind him.

Her father, Jaime, and Tyrion were to return to Casterly Rock today, and she was to bid them off, along with her husband, the King.

A knock disrupted her from her thoughts. "Enter," She ordered.

She turns to see her brother, Jaime, at the door. She smiles immediately, the prospect of him leaving suddenly forgotten. He was not wearing his golden armour; instead he was wearing a jerkin and breeches with the red and gold Lannister colours and a lion pattern on each of them. Light touched his hair, making him look golden even more. His sword was not present, a rarity for he almost always had a sword in his reach. He looked vulnerable; almost his age—their age. Almost the Jaime she knew at Casterly Rock.

"Cersei," Jaime greeted, walking towards her so that they were face to face, green eyes mirroring one another.

"Jaime," Cersei replied.

She barely had time to register what was happening when Jaime immediately leant and crashed his lips unto hers. His tongue penetrated her mouth; she gave in immediately and did not battle for dominance against him. His arms took ahold of her hips, disabling her movements. Jaime moved and pushed her to the wall, pinning her against it. She pulled out, taking in precious air. Only a mere inch of space was present between their faces, close enough that she could feel Jaime's breath as he took every breath.

"I will miss you, sweet sister," said Jaime.

"As will I," Cersei replied.

She felt a hand of his fumble on the laces of her dress, prompting her to jump in surprise.

"Jaime—" She said, only to be cut off.

"Please, Cersei," Jaime begged. "Just this once. I leave for Casterly Rock later. Who knows _when_ we'll see each other again?"

"I—" She started. "Yes, Jaime,"

As soon as her sentence was finished, Jaime immediately took his chance and quickly unlaced her dress. Lust was present in his eyes. She pushed his jerkin up and off from his chiseled chest as he finally managed to remove her dress, leaving her in nothing but her opaque smallclothes. Jaime reached out and slipped a hand inside to cup her wet sex. She then felt a finger part her folds and rub her little nub. Jaime started kissing her yet again, with his freehand pinning her shoulder to stop her from squirming. She was moaning quietly now, trying to resist the urge to scream as some of the servants might hear her from the outside. Another finger joined the other, and Cersei had reached and clumped a handful of Jaime's hair to avoid outright shouting his name. She

She could feel her smallclothes dripping wet. Jaime noticed, as well, and removed his fingers from inside her to take them off, leaving only her breasts covered. A hand slipped inside it and fondled with her nipple, making her moan yet again. Jaime pulled her to him and walked towards the bed, making her move with him. He pushed her down and leaned in to trail kisses along her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her navel, the sides of her thighs until he had eventually arrived _there_. He blowed slightly, making her arch her back and moan out louder. She needed him. _Inside her_.

"J—Jaime," She managed to sputter out. "Lock the door. Someone might come in."

Jaime pushed himself up and locked the door. Not even a minute later he was back and was leaning over her yet again. She could feel his erection throbbing from within his breeches, and sat up to help him untie it. Once done, she set herself onto the bed again, and Jaime used both of his hands to spread her legs wide. He moved himself closer to her as his hand rubbed up and down his manhood. Positioning his cock over her cunt, he leaned over and pinned her down on her shoulders. He then thrust himself inside her in fast strokes, making her moan each time.

Pressure was building up inside her and she could feel herself about to explode any minute. Jaime was pounding her; her hands were clutching a handful of his hair as she moaned out his name. She finally came; and Jaime watched as she rode out her orgasm in pure ecstasy. He followed her a little while later, removing his cock from inside her and collapsing on top of her. His seed fell on her belly and onto the sheets. She rolled over, her back facing Jaime. Jaime's hand immediately wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She could feel his breath on her nape as he said, "I love you, Cersei."

* * *

Jaime and the rest of her family had left two days before. The Keep was eerily quiet most of the time. She usually spent her free time exploring the parts that she hadn't seen yet. Since her father used to be Hand, there were times in her childhood that were spent in the Keep with Jaime. She had explored some parts, but had had to limit as her father forbade her against Aerys Targaryen and what he would do incase he saw her wandering about all on her own. During some of her escapades she had even seen Rhaegar; and sometimes even Queen Rhaella. She was kind, the Queen—albeit broken. She supposes that Aerys had dulled her fire; had toned it down until it was nothing but a small spark in the darkness. The Queen had once mistaken her for Joanna, her mother. It was then that she first saw the Queen smile, but it lasted not even a second when she realized that Cersei was _Cersei_ , and not Joanna. She'd felt bad for the Queen. Aerys raped her, _hit_ her, it was said—but she could not do anything about it because her husband was the King. No one dared defy him.

Today she was in the library, reading a book about the Dance of Dragons. Only Grandmaester Pycelle usually present inside, and he usually made way for her and kept her in quiet peace—thankfully. She had just finished sewing tapestries with her ladies-in-waiting, and much to her chagrin she had managed to escape them and go. She preferred solitude, at times, due to the fact that the ladies in court annoyed her to no end. They followed her everywhere; sucked up to her in order for her to hold them and their families in high standard. But she spared not a single thought on them, no matter how hard they tried.

"My Queen," said a voice from behind her. She put down the book she was reading on top of the table, and turned her head around. Her husband was there, standing awkwardly. She stood up and curtseyed, saying, "Your Grace,"

Ned shook his head, and said, "No need for such courtesies, my Queen."

She smiled at him slightly, which he considered as permission enough and walked on towards her. She stood silently, trying not to look at him as he made his way.

"I am to leave King's Landing on the morrow," stated he, "I do not expect to be back in a moon's time."

"To where?" She inquired.

"Dorne," said Eddard. "Some unfinished business with the Dornish you need not care about."

She did not protest, so unlike her as usually she wanted to know everything that was of importance that was happening around her. But she did not have the authority and the right to order her husband, The King, around. She did not have any idea of what the consequences might be. And she did not want it to put a rift between her and him. If he wanted to tell her, then he would.

"I give you permission to attend Small Council meetings in my stead, my Queen," He said.

Cersei's eyebrows raised, and she said, "I—I'm afraid that—"

"I have given you my permission," cut Eddard, "Jon knows as well. If any of them disagree with you present, tell them I have commanded it so."

Cersei nodded, and said, "Thank you... Eddard."

Eddard Stark nodded in turn, and left.

He left on the morrow, in the middle of the night and she had not had any chance to bid him off. He had come by to do his duties that night, and took her thrice yet she did not argue. She enjoyed sex with him, yet it felt more like a chore than a duty. She had wanted to get herself with child already; to witness her belly bloom with her husband's seed inside. It meant that he did not have to go to her chambers every night and increase the tension that was already present between them.

She had started attending Small Council meetings, wherein they discussed what to do with the Targaryen children Stannis had captured just recently when he had taken Dragonstone. It was reported that he had caught Willem Darry and four other Targaryen loyalists trying to smuggle Viserys Targaryen and the newborn babe Daenerys Targaryen—along with her wetnurse, as well—to Braavos. He had imprisoned them in the dungeons below the castle, it was said, and was waiting for a direct order from the King or the Hand on what to do with them.

Jon Arryn had decided to leave, and tend to the matter himself, vowing to return in two weeks' time. This left her in direct rule; albeit shortly. She did not have any Council meetings with Varys and Littlefinger—it was not needed, anyways, and Jon Arryn had returned just as quickly as he had left—or, to Cersei, it had felt like it. With him was Daenerys Targaryen, a babe of not even a moon old. Viserys had perished on the way back, having caught sickness in Dragonstone's dungeons. They did not have a maester present on the voyage, and they were forced to make do with what they had. But it was not enough, for the fever had taken Viserys before they had even docked in King's Landing. He was burned, and his ashes were buried below the sept where his ancestors were buried as well. Queen Rhaella's ashes were also buried along with him. Jon Arryn had seen to it, and had decided long before that though enemies, they had at least deserved a decent burial that respected their tradition. They were still Targaryens, after all.

Daenerys Targaryen would be considered a hostage; Jon Arryn had said. Her husband was to decide what to do with her when he got back. It had been a moon since he left, and yet she had not even heard of him since then. Jon Arryn was mum; but even so she hadn't asked him about her husband yet. The babe Daenerys lived in the royal apartments in Maegor's Holdfast; in the hallway next to where she and Ned were situated. Her wetnurse pacified her, thankfully, for she had not even heard the babe cry or even mutter a sound ever since she had arrived.

Her ladies-in-waiting were always present, and they divulged her about the gossips in court. Lysa Tully, Catelyn's younger sister, was to come to King's Landing to be with her husband, the Hand. Catelyn Tully—the woman Eddard was _supposed_ to marry—was to be married to one of her father's bannermen, much to her distress. Hoster Tully was angered by the prospect of Eddard setting aside Catelyn for her, but Jon Arryn had had him pacified—at the expense of their friendship.

She was sewing tapestries with her ladies-in-waiting, and, as always, she sewed a golden lion, her house's sigil. Technically, it was not her sigil anymore—she was Cersei Stark now, which meant her sigil was now a grey direwolf, just like her husband's. It was a far cry from the golden lion and lively crimson colours of her old house. She still thought herself a Lannister, more so instead of a Stark. But she would have to adjust; to respect her husband's house. She was lucky to have been married to a kind, honourable man. He didn't hit her, disrespected her, slandered her. She could easily have been married to Robert Baratheon, if the circumstances had bid it. It was a common fact that he loved Lyanna Stark, Eddard's sister. He wouldn't have easily thrown her away for a new bride.

The hours passed quickly, and she finds herself making her way throughout the hallways of the Keep to her chambers. Servants pass her by, saying their graces as they do. She pays them no mind, and focuses on recounting the way. Nearing the hallway where her chambers were located, she hears a babe crying in the distance. Daenerys Targaryen, no doubt. Interest piqued, she followed the source of the sound and finds herself standing in front of a nursery door that was slightly ajar.

"Hush, Princess," soothed the wetnurse. "Hush,"

The door opens, as if an unknown source pushed it, revealing her. The wetnurse looks up, shocked. She tries her best to curtsey and say her graces with the babe in her arms.

"Y-your Grace," she stutters.

"That babe is not a Princess," Cersei seethes. "If I ever hear you call her that again I'll have your tongue ripped out of your mouth."

"Y-y-yes, my Queen," The wetnurse answers, standing ever so slightly. The babe in her arms coos, her little hand waving about in front of her.

"What's your name?" Cersei asks in a demanding tone, "Where are you from?"

"Synda, your Grace," replied the wetnurse, bowing her head low. "From Maidenpool."

The babe threatens to cry yet again, flailing both her arms in front of her and squirming as if she wanted to be let down. Cersei finds herself slowly creeping towards the wetnurse to look at the child. She looks at the babe, whose attention was now directed at Cersei. Daenerys had big, violet eyes and a tuft of silver-gold hair atop her head. She remembered Rhaegar almost instantly. If they had been married, their child would have looked like this. Daenerys strained her arms towards her, as if wanting to be carried by her. Synda senses it, and shushes the child, thinking that the Queen would take it as an offense. But Cersei puts out a finger to rub the babe's smooth cheek. Daenerys strains her arms yet again, and Cersei obliges, putting her hands out before Synda could stop Daenerys yet again. Unable to refuse the Queen, she gives Daenerys for her to hold.

The babe feels right in her arms. Daenerys burrows herself beneath her breasts and nuzzles one teat, wanting to be fed. She shifts the babe to relinquish its hold on her breast. She stares at the child, green meeting violet as she took in the babe's features. Daenerys would grow up to be very beautiful, that was for sure. But she hoped that she hadn't an ounce of madness the Targaryens usually possessed. The child managed to latch onto a fistful of her golden hair and put it into her mouth, making Cersei laugh. Synda gasps in the background, expecting Cersei to get mad at the babe for doing such a thing.

"Dany...!" Synda stutters out.

Cersei looks up, curiosity piqued at what the wetnurse had just called the child.

"Dany?" Cersei inquires with sheer interest.

"I-I've been calling her that, your Grace," says Synda, bowing her head low. Her hands are clutched to her dress, Cersei notices. "Daenerys is quite a long name. It won't happen again, your Grace,"

"Who gave her that name?" Cersei asks. "Daenerys, I mean,"

"Qu—Rhaella, your Grace," answers Synda. "The gods were good to give her time to name her babe before perishing. She died just after she managed to say it, your Grace,"

Cersei nods, and looks at the babe yet again. She releases her hold on the baby's bottom to remove the fistful of her hair that Daenerys was stuffing in her mouth. She spots the child's cradle just in front of the fireplace, and walks towards it. She puts Daenerys down carefully, so as not to hurt her. She smiles at the child, and the babe giggles at her. She straightens herself and turns around, regarding Synda.

"You've done a satisfying job at caring for the child," says Cersei, "But I don't ever want to hear her cries in the hallways again. If the babe ever needs anything, do not hesitate to come to me."

"Y-yes, my Queen," the wetnurse replied in the smallest of voices.

Cersei leaves before the sentence is finished, her dress billowing from behind her.

* * *

 **Please review!** _I'd love to hear all your comments about the story! Constructive criticism is very much appreciated, I tell you. I'll address every review regarding the storyflow and the plotline._


	4. iv

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones; neither do I own A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **Thank you so much for all your reviews! I can't believe I got 11 in the last chapter!**

 ** _expert93_ : I think a lot of people never saw that coming as well ;) And regarding Jon, I've got a lot planned in terms of his relationship with Cersei. I'd like to tell but that'd mean spoilers :-) Thank you!**

 ** _Hedgehog of Time_ : Dany's going to be a _very_ important character in the far future. And thank you! :-)**

 ** _Helewisetran_ : Thank you! And I do, too. I wish they were canon instead. ;)**

 ** _Guest_ : Tywin wouldn't stand for that, so yeah I had Jaime sent away properly instead. :-)**

 ** _magnus374_ : I already have a betrothal planned for Dany, although you'll find out in the future chapters! :-) Thanks!**

 ** _bankerjoe13_ : Cersei is Cersei. I like to think that she thought she'd never see Jaime again (but she will, though it'll be years before that) that's why she did it. :-) and thank you!**

 ** _wolfpack_ : Thank you! I've taken your suggestion into account, and I'm trying to put it in the story's future timeline, although I don't know where as of now. :-)**

 ** _wingofpain_ : Thank you so much! As I've said earlier, I have sooo many plans for Dany and she will be a very important character in this story. Trust me on that! ;)**

 **Thank you as well to Master of Dragons God, Guest, and thunder18!**

 **Next update is on Saturday.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

* * *

She finds herself going to Daenerys' nursery more often than not. Synda is more or less welcoming—she couldn't refuse the Queen, after all. She had become very attached to the child—Daenerys was a lovely little babe; always smiling, cooing, and begging to be held. What Cersei loved the most was her amethyst-coloured eyes. They were a haunting shade—very unique—and they reminded her of Rhaegar. She had little wooden animals made for Daenerys, just the right size so she could hold them with her chubby little hands but avoid swallowing them. The babe loved it when Cersei was around. Sometimes she would even sleep in Cersei's arms as she held her.

Today was no exception, and she finds herself walking towards Daenerys' nursery yet again. The whole realm was yet to know of Daenerys—though, most likely, the news had already spread. During one of their Small Council meetings, Jon recalled that he had received a raven from Eddard, declaring that Daenerys would be considered as their ward, not their hostage. A deviation in name, but not much of a difference in anything, if you thought about it closely. The child did not have any family to go to, only her great uncle Aemon Targaryen who was sworn to the Night's Watch. Her current predicament was quite an advantage—she could easily have been killed, or left to die, but instead she was to be she and her husband's ward and would be raised alongside their children. She would be educated; she would grow up to be a prim and proper lady. Though her house did not hold any lands nor power, noble houses would still fight for her when the time came. She was, after all, a Targaryen—the blood of old Valyria ran through her veins.

She opened the door to the nursery without knocking. Synda was bent over the cradle, no doubt making sure Daenerys was comfortable. She still called Daenerys 'Dany'. Cersei did not stop her, for she understood as well that Daenerys' name was quite long. Although she supposed that she would probably call her by her nickname sooner or later. Being with Daenerys gave her more experience when it came to children—after all, she would be having hers quite soon.

"Your Grace," Synda said, bowing her head and curtseying the best she could.

Cersei merely nodded, and went straight to the cradle holding the babe. She was wide awake, cooing, and tinkering with one of the wooden animals she had had the carvers make for her. The moment she saw Cersei, she held her hands up high, signaling Cersei to lift her up and take her into her arms. Cersei obliged, knowing that if she didn't, Daenerys would cry. Daenerys snuggled within her hold, her hands still holding one of her wooden toys—a dragon, ironically. Cersei used one hand to tickle the child, resulting in laughter from both Cersei and Daenerys. The babe's violet eyes were twinkling with happiness—and it was then Cersei vowed to make sure that Daenerys would grow up to be a joyful, blissful girl. She would protect her herself; raise her among her children. There was something about Daenerys that made her feel a certain affinity, yet she could not place what it was.

She sat down on the rug in front of the hearth, placing Daenerys carefully between her legs. Her hand supported the child's back while her other hand supported the front, making her sit upright. Daenerys giggled, mesmerized by the fire burning inside the fireplace. She strained her arms towards it, as if wanting to touch it. She couldn't crawl yet—but she was learning to, and if you set her down on the rug she would try her best to move herself around by squirming her body and gripping with her hands.

"You can't touch the fire, Daenerys, you'll burn yourself," said Cersei merrily with a grin plastered onto her face.

Daenerys responded with baby sounds, coos and blabbers that neither Cersei nor Synda could understand or comprehend. Cersei put her lips on the babe's head, inhaling its soft scent. The wooden dragon on the floor lay forgotten as the babe sat with wonder in her violet eyes directed to the fire in the hearth. Cersei picked it up and took Daenerys' hand to make her hold it. This caught Daenerys' attention, and Cersei took advantage of it and said, "That's a dragon, Daenerys," She cooed. "Draaaa-gon."

The babe giggled, and Cersei assaulted the child yet again with another bout of tickles. She played with the child until it was sleepy and went on her way to her chambers. She had been feeling queasy the past few days, and had been vomiting the contents of her morning fast as well due to it. She tired out quickly than she used to, and would feel extremely tired at night that she would sleep directly after supper. She had decided to go to Grandmaester Pycelle to confirm her doubts, which he did. She was with child. Two moons, Pycelle had said, the babe seemed to have been conceived in the first week of marriage.

She wasn't showing that much yet—she had only just noticed the slightest of bulges forming on her stomach when Pycelle had confirmed it. He reassured her that it was fine; that it was normal and that she would most likely start to show when she passed her fourth moon of child-bearing. She had decided on not telling anyone yet—not even her husband—because it felt like her own special little secret.

Her handmaidens hadn't noticed yet—but if they did, they did not comment on it. She thought of them as slow, simpering, submissive, dim-witted fools; so submissive that if she'd asked them to kill themselves they would for sure.

Her handmaidens were with her everywhere—yet she did not think of them as friends. _No one can be trusted_ , she'd always say to herself, _only Jaime_. King's Landing was a viper's nest and everyone were snakes. The more people you trusted, the higher the chances of you being betrayed. Secrets were rarely kept—and, if there were any, only a very select few. King's Landing can destroy you if you weren't strong enough to withstand anything.

Jaime had sent her a letter—a feat, for he rarely wrote letters. He'd always been bad at it as a child, and Cersei had had to teach him herself every after their lessons so he could cope up with what they were teaching them. He told her that Father seemed mad about the prospect of still not having him as heir despite being released from his Kingsguard duties. He told her that he was finally free to do whatever he wanted—to get drunk—not that he wasn't before,—to roam Lannisport and the surrounding lands by himself and eat and sleep and drink and stay whenever and wherever he wanted. He told him that he loved her, and that he missed her.

She hadn't told him about her pregnancy. She knew he'd be jealous; and would stop talking to her almost instantly. He would find out on his own. He'd feel betrayed, of course—but wasn't that her duty to her husband? Making and giving him heirs? Jaime knew as well as she; but she supposes that he'd feel that way because she's always been his and has never had to share. They were two parts of one whole and were meant to be together. Only with him did she feel complete.

* * *

Lysa Arryn had arrived at the Capital as expected. Today she and her ladies-in-waiting were sewing tapestries with her in the gardens. Her ladies-in-waiting attempted to strike conversation with her, and she would answer but only with one-worded sentences. Cersei hadn't talked to her ever since the sewing started, focusing only on the tapestry she was doing. She was sewing a grey direwolf—the first time she's ever done so—and while she didn't have any problem with what she was doing, it felt strange to be stitching a sigil other than a golden lion.

She was quietly pulling the needle up to complete another stitch when Lysa Arryn spoke up.

"Doesn't it feel strange to be sewing another house's sigil, my Queen?"

Cersei looked up and found Lysa's big Tully blue eyes staring straight at her own green orbs. An eyebrow of hers was raised, and her eyes were looking at the tapestry in Cersei's hands.

"It does not," Cersei lied, "I _am_ part of House Stark now, aren't I?"

She heard Lysa sigh before contemplating, "Oh, how my sister was disappointed," "She thought she would be the one bearing the Stark name."

"If I remember correctly," Cersei replied, "The King forfeited the betrothal between your sister and he and chose me."

"Do pray tell; who was your sister married to?" Cersei added.

"Jason Mallister, your Grace," said Lysa as Cersei's gaze penetrated her. "The Lord of Seagard. One of my father's bannermen."

"Tell me," said Cersei, "Is she not contented with Lord Mallister as her husband?"

"Of course she is, my Queen," Lysa replied. "I was merely contemplating—"

"Then contemplate when I'm not here," Cersei sneered, "I've heard abundant rumours saying I supposedly stole Eddard Stark from Catelyn Tully; giving him my maidenhead while he was drunk for him to be forced to marry me instead of Lady Catelyn due to his honor. Have you heard such a thing, Lady Lysa? Vile, they are,"

"I'm afraid I haven't, your Grace," said Lysa, "I suppose that some kitchen wench—"

"Oh, but I've heard that one of the ladies in court started the rumor," said Cersei, "I've no idea who. But once I find out I'll have that bitch's tongue ripped out of her mouth for desecrating the _Queen._ "

Cersei noticed Lysa's eyes widen slightly. She seemed to hesitate before saying, "I'm afraid I have no idea either, your Grace," "Many are jealous of you, your Grace, that much is obvious. You are the Queen. Your husband is an honourable man; not as handsome as his brother Brandon was but still has looks all the same. And he's the King. Many would kill to be in your position."

"I suppose so," said Cersei, "But if I ever find out who started those vile rumors I'll not hesitate to do what I promised to do."

The rumors stopped almost instantly after that. Lysa Arryn was afraid of her—especially her threats—and, obviously being the one who started all those lies she had quickly cleared them before it could be traced back to her. She also stayed away from Cersei, preferring the company of some of the ladies in court instead. Cersei was all too happy to oblige—she did not like Lysa in the slightest, anyways. She thought her sister Catelyn as a whore who couldn't get over being set aside for another woman. But Cersei herself used to be one of the sort, wasn't she? Hadn't Rhaegar set her aside for both Elia Martell and Lyanna Stark, enraging her?

The bulge in her belly had increasingly become a little bit more noticeable. No one knew still; for she preferred to dress herself the past few weeks, but her dresses were becoming snug and fit around her stomach and she would have to have new ones made. The ladies in court were no doubt talking about her noticeable weight gain already. She had also heard that her husband was on his way home and was expected to arrive at the Capital any time soon. She couldn't wait to tell him the news: to tell him that she had finally achieved her duty and done what was expected of her. Her days were the same ever since he left; she would have meals with her ladies-in-waiting, walk around the gardens with them, sew tapestries and more. Sometimes she would visit the library and read. But most of the time she'd visit Daenerys in her nursery and play with her.

She had just woke up and was currently looking out into her chamber's balcony onto the view before her. The sun was shining brightly, and the Narrow Sea was glistening with its rays cast upon it. She could see the citizens slowly milling about on the streets. Merchants were setting up their stalls, and a few gold cloaks were strolling around. She heard the door to her chambers open and close, and footsteps slowly coming towards her.

"Your Grace," said someone behind her—she recognized the voice as that of Lady Senelle's, one of her ladies-in-waiting— "His Grace has arrived."

* * *

 **Thank you so much for all your reviews! I can't believe we actually reached 30! :-)**

 **Please review, I'll respond to every one of them**. _Constructive criticism is very much appreciated! Do you think we can reach **40** this time? ;)_

 _And also, up next is a **Ned** chapter! One of the very few._


	5. v

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones; neither do I own A Song of Ice and Fire and the showdown scene in this chapter. I took it from the books.**

 **New chapter! Next chapter features Cersei, to be posted next Saturday.** **Thank you so much for all your reviews! I never expected I'd get 12 in the last. :-) I decided to update today due to the number of reviews I got; and how fast I got them!**

 ** _Hedgehog of Time_ : You'll see in this chapter how Jon fits in. ;) Thanks!**

 ** _LadyKatherine29_ : Thank you so much for your long review! Well... Cersei is Cersei, and we all know how she loves having sex with her brother in canon. And as for Hoster; sometimes people are blinded by their anger—and that's exactly what happened to him. Sucks that he married Catelyn off just like that though. And Tywin... Tbh, I don't think that he'd ever remarry because he loves Joanna; he still does even years after her dead and that's what's preventing him from doing so. And even if he did remarry, Tyrion would still be heir unless he does something. :-)**

 ** _Expert93_ : Thank you so much! I've been contemplating on that as well! But it'd be a long time before one of Ned's children get to take Winterfell. But I suppose Benjen could wait if he really wanted to go to the Wall. And Tywin... it'd make him the most powerful man in Westeros, in extension—his daughter on the Throne, one of his grandsons ruling the North, and not to mention Casterly Rock and all his gold... The possibilities are endless. :-)**

 ** _kyunaru_ : If you reread the scene between Cersei and Jaime again you'll know whose child it really is. ;)**

 ** _Revan3363_ : Rereading Jaime and Cersei's scene would solve your queries. And thank you!**

 **Many thanks as well to Helewisetran, Kyuubi123, MrWinteck, magnus374, Stef15, Guest, and Ice Fire and Blood!**

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

* * *

He had received news that Lya was in Dorne. In the Tower of Joy in the Red Mountains in Dorne, it was said. The moment he heard, he had wasted no time and had immediately set about after the preparations for he and his men's journey was ready. She'd been kidnapped and taken there by no other than Rhaegar Targaryen, the former Targaryen Prince. He still remembered the tourney of Harrenhall, when Rhaegar crowned his sister, Lyanna, instead Elia Martell—his wife, and the mother of his children—the Queen of Love and Beauty. Almost everyone immediately quietened after that, not even whispers were rampant as no one had expected what Rhaegar had just done.  
He had immediately gathered his men when he'd heard. Howland Reed, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, William Dustin, Theo Wull, and Ser Mark Ryswell—his bannermen, and his most trusted. They'd all been willing when he told them. They set out quickly, and travelled by horse. It had all been so quick he'd barely had time to comprehend himself—the Siege of Storm's End, his wedding, his wife, Cersei Lannister—the events came by like a blow. He was still grieving for Robert—he was like a brother to him; his most trusted friend. He was still grieving for his father and his brother, Brandon. He was grieving for Lyanna, his lost sister. He hoped that it was true; that she really was in the Tower of Joy and finally, _finally_ he had found her.

They were following the path along the mountains now, and only the sound of the clacking of horse hooves could be heard. Howland Reed was next to him, barely uttering a sound which left him to his own thoughts. He then could hear inaudible talking in the back, which he supposed was Lord Theo and Ser Mark. They had been traveling for a month and a half now, and if not for the incessant disturbances they would have travelled much quicker. He could not wait to see Lyanna—he hadn't seen her in what seemed like forever; he still remembered how angered he, his brother, and his father were when they'd found out that Rhaegar had kidnapped his sister. Robert's Rebellion happened, then—he was angered at Rhaegar for taking his betrothed.

Robert had always said he loved Lyanna, but Ned supposed that even his love for her would not stop him from being unfaithful. Though Robert thought their marriage would be a success, Ned himself believed that they would not have gotten along that easily; and the bliss would only come in the first few years or months. Lyanna was headstrong, willfull, courageous, bold. Robert wouldn't have been able to contain her—nor would he be able to make Lyanna happy; to fully satisfy her needs. Lyanna wasn't as enthusiastic as Robert about their betrothal.

He'd been married to Cersei Lannister. He wouldn't have liked to be married to a Lannister, but it was necessary to keep her father away. With a Lannister already in King's Landing—and so close to the throne—Tywin had left. Though he did not know Cersei that well, he did not strike her as the type her father would be. She was kind to him, _shy_ : but he knew there was a fire inside her begging to be released. He had done his duty to her, he had taken her maidenhead for his own. He had come to her bedchambers at night every night the duration of his stay before leaving for Dorne. He hoped that it was enough to get her with child. It wasn't that he did not enjoy their couplings; _he did_ , but it was more like a chore than anything. There was also an uncertain amount of tension between them.

He also told her about certain matters at times, although limited. He liked it when she replied and shared her opinion about the topic, but she was hesitant—he supposed that it felt new to her, because no one had ever asked her to give her opinion about political matters. She knew politics, although she was not particularly good at it yet as she'd never had the chance. He was not open to giving her power—she was a Lannister. Lannisters could never be trusted. But there was something about Cersei that made him feel odd. There was something about her that was different; that struck something inside him that he could not place.

He could see a big, round tower looming in the distance. Suddenly he stopped, which prompted the men behind him to stop as well.

"The Tower of Joy," He mused.

"Do you think someone's guarding it, my King?" Martyn Cassel asked.

"Rhaegar wouldn't have left my sister unguarded," said Ned, "Not all of the Kingsguard were present when we took it."

Ned nodded, and motioned for them to continue. It took them an hour at most to reach their destination, to which they had dismounted their horses, tied them to a post, and continued by foot. They did not have to trek for long, as the entrance to the tower was a mere 100 meter distance away. The problem was that it was guarded by three men—Gerold Hightower; Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Arthur Dayne, and Ser Oswell Whent. Gerold Hightower had been the first to spot them, and he immediately brandished his sword and said, "Eddard Stark."

" _King_ Eddard Stark," Ser Ryswell corrected.

"I serve only the Targaryens," said Ser Gerold, "This man is not my King."

"I looked for you on the Trident," Ned said to them.

"We were not there," Ser Gerold answered.

"Woe to the Usurper if we had been," said Ser Oswell.

"When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were."

"Far away," Ser Gerold said, "or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells."

"I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege," Ned told them, "and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them."

"Our knees do not bend easily," said Ser Arthur Dayne.

"Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him."

"Ser Willem is a good man and true," said Ser Oswell.

"But not of the Kingsguard," Ser Gerold pointed out. "The Kingsguard does not flee."

"Then or now," said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.

"We swore a vow," explained old Ser Gerold.

"The queen is dead," said Ned, "So is the prince. The Targaryen babe serves as my ward."

Ned's wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against three.

"And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

"No," Ned said with sadness in his voice. "Now it ends."

And they fought. They had the upperhand; they were seven and their enemies were only three. But they were of the Kingsguard, and had more experience than any of them. They also had vengeance to achieve and do their duty, which was to protect whomever was inside the tower. The fight seemed like forever; with him and Howland Reed fighting Arthur Dayne; Ser Mark, Lord Wull, and Lord Glover fighting Ser Gerold; and Lord Martyn and Lord William Dustin fighting Ser Oswell Whent.

He struck and defended; but Ser Arthur was not easily slain. His men were having a hard time defeating their opponents as well, no matter how many they were against them. In the end Howland had finally slain Ser Arthur, with a blow to his heart while he was distracted defending himself from Ned's strikes. He fell and blood pooled around him; nonstop from his wound. He saw Ser Gerold slaying Ser Mark as a sword pierced his stomach. He fell quickly after, muttering words that seemed like apologies for failing to do his duty. Just then, a slash was heard, and he turned around to see Ser Oswell cutting Lord Dustin's head off. He immediately recovered and walked towards Ned, his sword raised above his head, ready to strike. Just as he was about to, Howland Reed appeared behind him and cut his head clean off. His sword fell, and Ned dodged it just in time.

Exchanging a look, Ned quickly climbed up the stairs, taking two at a time as it spiraled higher and higher. Finally, he stopped in front of a door, wherein which he heard groaning inside and an undistinguishable voice of a woman. He did not knock, but quickly barged in. There was a bed in the center of the room, with someone—a woman—bent over. He could not see who was in the bed, but the woman, who was surprised by the sound, stood up quickly and turned around. One quick look at the bed and he knew instantly who it was.

"Lya," Ned breathed. The woman quickly set aside, going to the other side of the room as Ned kneeled beside the bed and held Lyanna's hand. She was deathly pale, her cheekbones sunken, and she looked thinner than Ned had ever seen her. Her dark brown hair was fanned around her face, and beads of sweat were forming on her neck. He squeezed Lyanna's hand as he looked up at the woman and asked, "What happened?"

"Childbed fever, m'lord," said the woman.

" _King_ ," Howland Reed corrected.

"Ned," then rasped Lyanna, earning the attention of everyone in the room.

"Lya," said Ned again.

"N-Ned, protect him," Lyanna said, and it was then that Ned noticed the little bundle on her side.

"Lya, I—" Ned said, only to be cut off.

"R-Rhaegar," Lyanna breathed, "He is Rhaegar's,"

"P-p-protect him for me, Ned," Lyanna had then said, squeezing his hand in turn. "... Promise me!"

Lyanna had then erupted into a fit of coughs, which shook her chest and left her almost unable to breath. Her chest pumped up and down afterwards in an attempt to take in enough air.

"Promise me, Ned!"

It was then that Lyanna squeezed Ned's hand as hard as she could, heaved, and then collapsed, her grey eyes closing as she did. It was then that Ned knew that she was gone.

"Lya...!"

Ned bowed his head, and held Lyanna's hand in his. He and Benjen were the only Starks left. He stood up, and closed his eyes.

"My King..." The woman then said.

"How long?" He asked.

"A week, your Grace. She kept on saying your name over and over again, and it took me a long time to pacify her." The woman replied.

"What is your name?" Ned asked, "Have you been the one taking care of her?"

"Wylla, your Grace," said she, "Yes, your Grace. I'm the babe's wet nurse as well. I helped give birth to him,"

"What is his name?" Ned asked again, pointing to the bundle at Lyanna's side.

"He doesn't have one, I'm afraid, your Grace," said Wylla, going over to Lyanna's side and lifting the babe to her arms. The babe was all North; not a hint of Targaryen blood in him. His eyes were grey, just like his mother's; and a tuft of dark brown hair was present atop his head. His hands were bundled to his chest, opening and closing in rhythm.

"Wylla," said Ned, "The babe—"

Wylla did not seem to hesitate, and cut him off, saying, "I'll be his wetnurse, your Grace," "There is nothing left in store for me in Dorne. Lady Lyanna entrusted me with the child incase she died and wasn't able to take care of him."

And so it was. It was easy to pretend that the child was a bastard of his; for he had the North in him and had looked like his mother more than his father. They had buried the men's remains in a cairn; and brought Lyanna's with them. They had also went to Starfall before going to King's Landing to return _Dawn_ , the Dayne's ancestral sword. It was there that he heard that Ashara Dayne had died; that she had jumped off the Palestone Sword—one of Starfall's towers—due to grief because of her child's death. He had entrusted Lyanna's remains to Howland Reed, and made him promise not to tell anyone regarding what had truly transpired that day. He told him to have Lyanna buried under the crypts in Winterfell with his brother and father, which Howland had immediately and solemnly agreed to do. Only they knew why and how she truly died.

 _And a month and a half later, three months after departing from King's Landing; he had arrived again, only this time with his bastard and its wetnurse with him._

* * *

 **Thank you so much for all your reviews!** _Do you think we can get **50** next? All your reviews are appreciated, fret not! I'll reply to all of them. ;)_


	6. vi

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones; neither do I own A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **Thank you for all who reviewed, be it negative or positive.**

 **And to address the rage regarding why Eddard still claimed Jon as his bastard:**

 _ **Though Robert is dead in this story, and though they already have Daenerys as his ward, Ned still made a promise to his sister. I know that the reason why Ned claimed Jon as his bastard in the books is because Robert hated the Targaryens and Jon was from Rhaegar and Lyanna both—he loved Lyanna, but he couldn't—wouldn't—stand knowing that Jon was from the woman he loved and the man that he hated. Remember that this is still Westeros. Ned is King, I know that, and no one would dare touch Jon if they knew but most likely there would be outrage regarding Jon's parentage. And there are, no doubt, people still plotting against them all. Not everyone was pleased regarding Ned's decisions—take Hoster Tully, for example. And the Dornish whose temper still flares due to The Mountain killing Elia Martell and her children. And the Tyrells, who were Targaryen loyalists (I know the Tyrells align with those in power, and those who they think have the upper hand. Just like what was shown in canon.). I know that I'm probably not making sense, but I wouldn't have made Jon a bastard in my story without any plausible reason. If my explanation does not suffice, then I'm sorry.**_

 **But, anyways, thank you for all your opinions! :-)**

 **Next chapter is on Saturday.**

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

* * *

She never had time to prepare. After Lady Senelle had announced the news, she had had her call one of her handmaidens to prepare a bath for her. Before the said handmaiden had arrived, however, her husband arrived first, knocking slightly on the door. She had opened the door and welcomed him. She only had her thin shift on, though, which left very little to the imagination. But she did not bother covering up—he had seen all of her in their couplings, anyways. And if they were to make even more children or heirs, they would have to go through all of it yet again.

"My Queen," greeted Eddard.

"Your Grace," said Cersei.

Eddard was about to reprimand her from calling him that yet again, but she had already set aside and opened the door widely for him to enter. Closing the door, she faced him and cast her eyes down, the tension between them increasing as every second passed. She felt him come near her, and not a minute later a finfer of his had lifted her chin, making her green orbs meet his grey ones.

"You needn't call me that." He told her.

"Is that not the proper greeting, my King?" She asked, raising one of her eyebrows.

"We are married," said Eddard, "Call me Ned."

"You must call me Cersei, then,"

"As you wish... Cersei."

A smile formed on her face then, prompting her husband to do the same. The finger that rested on her chin moved to her cheek; Eddard then rubbed a finger against it. She cast her eyes down again; her husband's gaze penetrated right into her soul, it seemed. He started to speak.

"How fares you, Cersei?"

"I am fine," She said, not wanting to use his nickname just yet. Eddard would do. She felt as if his nickname was reserved only for those close to him; and though she may be his wife they were certainly not close. He did not love her, and she did not love him. It was simple; and they both knew. Both knew their duties and that was it. "I have something to tell you."

"What is it?" asked her husband.

"I am with child, Eddard."

She did not have time to register what happened next because not a second later, Eddard had crashed his lips onto hers. She did not return the kiss, however—mainly due to surprise that he did it. Her husband, Eddard Stark—dubbed as solemn, serious, cold—had kissed her due to his joy regarding the news. He pulled back quickly after, and said, "I apologize, Cersei," "I was—am—overjoyed with the news."

A day after he had come to her again. She had just broke her fast with him. She was in her solar, writing a reply to one of Jaime's letters. She debated within herself whether or not to tell him the news. She had told her husband; and they were to announce it when she had passed her fourth moon of child-bearing. But Jaime was her brother; he was more dear to her than any other person in the world. If anyone deserved to know, it was him, but he would not be overjoyed with the news. She would have a child, but not with him. He would no doubt be frightened that she would replace him with her husband. But she disregarded it; it would never happen. She knew the moment she had married her husband that she would not love him. And hadn't she promised that she would love only Jaime?

Jaime was her twin; her perfect half; her mirror. They were two parts of one whole, and only with each other were they complete.

"Cersei," said he, stopping just in front of her desk. She had stood up and dropped the quill she was holding on top of the table.

"Eddard." She said in turn.

"I would like to show you something," he said, "If it is all right."

Cersei merely nodded, as she very well couldn't refuse an offer from the King, more or less her husband. He offered her his arm to take, which she did. They didn't have to walk far, however: they stopped at the room just across Dany's; which was inside the royal quarters as well. She was mum, she did not ask him what they were to do. He hadn't known yet about her visits with Dany. She assumed that he didn't care; he wouldn't have the same affinity that she did with the child, anyways. Dany, to her, was more like a child. Though she was soon to have a child of her own, she knew that she would not be able to throw aside Daenerys so easily. She was like a mother to her; she visited her everyday, almost every hour she had of freetime.

She knew within her that the child would be a boy; would be an heir. She had decided on naming him Rickard, after Eddard's father.

Eddard knocked, and the door was opened by a woman who she had never seen before. This sparked curiosity in her mind—who was she? What was her husband going to show her?

"Your Grace," said the woman, who opened the door, letting them in. "My Queen,"

She surveyed the woman—she looked Dornish, with skin one shade below olive, dark brown hair, and deep-set, earth-coloured eyes. She had her hair in a simple braid which fell on one of her shoulders.

"Please leave us," Eddard told the woman.

Eddard led her to the middle of the room. She hadn't noticed the wooden cradle placed inside. She was getting more confused by the minute. They stopped in front of the cradle, with just enough distance so Cersei couldn't see what was inside. Eddard bent and not a minute later had stood up again but this time he was holding a bundle in his arms. Cersei spoke.

"Eddard...?"

"Forgive me," said he, "This is my son, Cersei."

The world seemed to crash for her just then. Her husband had a bastard, a contender to her son's throne. Honourable Eddard Stark had a bastard. She prayed that her suspicions weren't right. She prayed that he wouldn't let the child live in the Keep, with their future children and by extension, her—all due to his honour. He made a mistake during the war, it was understandable. But to let the mistake plague her and her future? Her face twisted into a sneer.

"He is your bastard," Cersei stated. "Why is he here?"

"His mother is dead. He will live in the Keep," Eddard answered. "He has no family but I. He will be kept secret, Cersei, that I promise."

Cersei was angry. She was more than angry—she was furious and filled with loathe; loathe directed at the child in Eddard's arms. She could not let that babe live in the Keep; defiling her with every breath that it took. She was filled with disgust—couldn't he send the child away? To have the child fostered; or to send it to the North?

"I will not have a bastard living in our home," said Cersei, her voice filled with fury. "Send him to the North. You may do whatever you want with it but I will not let that... thing live in the Keep. Have you no propriety at all?"

"He is my son," Eddard replied, his voice taking on a loud and serious tone. It was the first time he'd ever raised his voice against her. "I will not burden anyone with him. He is my responsibility. He will live in the Keep and that is final."

"What about _our_ son? Our son is a Stark and that child is not. I care not whether he has a mother or not, he will not live here." "My son is the heir; I will not have him tainted."

"This child is my blood; Jon is my blood. He will stay, you cannot sway me." said Eddard with a finality in his voice.

Cersei left, hot blood coursing through her veins. Weeks passed, and she did not see the monster even as she visited Dany. She did not have any meals with her husband; nor did she see him, either. She was filled with anger still—how could he? She accepted that he had a bastard; but what infuriated her the most was the fact that he had let that little monster live in their home. Her third moon of child-bearing passed; then the fourth, and that was when she had finally seen him again. The bulge of her belly was now noticeable—she had had new gowns made to suit her and her ever-growing stomach. He had found her in the library, and she addressed him formally as should. She stood up and curtseyed as best as she could with her belly. She caught her husband looking at it for a lingering moment, but the next second it was gone. On instinct, she put her hand above it.

"Maester Pycelle told me you have passed your fourth moon of child-bearing." He stated, eyes directly on her.

"Yes," said she, "My King. What would you have me do?"

"I—Cersei." said Eddard. "I apologize for what transpired between us. But Jon will stay."

Cersei took a look at him, and emotionlessly said, "It is quite alright, my King," "What would you have me do?"

She heard Eddard sigh as he said, "Letters, Cersei," "The realm must know about the child to come."

Cersei nodded, and said, "If I must."

And so she did. She wrote letters, and they had had it sent throughout every corner of the realm. Soon everyone had known about her childbearing—even her father had sent a letter commending her for doing her duty. He told her to make sure the child was a boy, and if it wasn't, to try again. Tyrion, her wretched brother, had sent her a letter as well. She did not send a letter back. Jaime had stopped corresponding with her—just as she'd expected. But shouldn't he understand that it was part of her duty to produce heirs for her husband?

She'd hated that boy Jon. Everyday she would pray to the Stranger to take the little bastard and kill him and take him out of her sight. Being older than any of the children she may have, if her husband ever legitimizes the child it would effectively be his heir and would be ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. This made him a threat, and as a child she had learned that threats must always, _always_ be thwarted before they worsened.

She had just had supper with her ladies-in-waiting, and had bid them to leave her be as she returned to her chambers. Suddenly, she heard crying—she assumed it was Daenerys, and so she immediately detoured and proceeded to her nursery, even though she knew Synda would be there to calm the child down. As she arrived in front of the door to Daenerys' nursery, she found out that the noise was not coming from her, but from her husband's bastard, Jon Waters. The child had a wetnurse as well, Eddard had made sure, but this was the first time she'd ever heard the bastard make noise. Where was the bastard's wetnurse? She hesitated—did checking on the child mean that she cared for it? She merely wanted a look the monster. She decided on checking—no, looking—at the child, even just for a short time. Opening the door, the volume of the babe's crying immediately doubled. She quickly slipped in and closed the door quietly.

She slowly creeped towards the child's wooden cradle. She looked at the child; its face all scrunched up with tears streaking down its face. She felt no motherly instinct towards the child whatsoever. The moment the babe saw her, however, it ceased its crying and began looking up at her curiously, a fist inside its mouth. She inspected the child's features: he looked like her husband, Eddard, the most. The child was all North; not a drop of South in it. He had eyes as grey as her husband's. The only thing, however, that the bastard took from its whore of a mother was her jaw, nothing more. Eddard told her that he would keep him secret—but she did not believe the secret would be kept for long. The child would grow up; she thought it cruel—even if she hated the child—for the child to be kept only in his chambers, never to go out. Eddard would, no doubt, let him roam the Keep in free reign when he grows.

She could easily smother the bastard and no one would ever know. But she didn't—she didn't know why, but something inside her compelled her not to do it. The child cooed and raised its arms towards her just like Dany would do. But the child did not get the same reaction from her that Dany did. She sneered, and looked at the child as of it were trash and should be thrown away. Just then, the door behind her opened, and a gasp was heard. She turned around, and saw the babe's wetnurse.

"Why weren't you here?" She seethed. "The bastard was crying, shouldn't you have pacified him?"

"I-I am sorry, your Grace," aplogized the wetnurse, bowing her head low. "One of the kitchenmaids was confined to the birthing bed and I had to attend to her. He was sleeping when I left. It won't happen again, your Grace."

"Shouldn't a maester have attended to the wench?" Cersei asked.

"She only trusted me, your Grace," the wetnurse said, "She didn't have enough money for the maester's fees, I'm afraid,"

"The next time I ever hear this... bastard make a sound I'll have you thrown to the dungeons to have your throat slashed for insolence." Cersei threatened.

"Yes, your Grace," The wetnurse replied.

Cersei took once last look at the wretched bastard before leaving. She heard the child coo and babble, threatening to cry as she closed the door.

* * *

 _I would love to hear all your opinions regarding the story. **I reached 55 in the last chapter, do you think we could garner more than 60 with this? ** I appreciate each and every review, and I'll address them all as much as possible. _

_Constructive criticism is very much appreciated. Thank you!_


	7. vii

**Disclaimer: I do not own a Song of Ice and Fire; neither do I own Game of Thrones.**

 **Thank you so very much for your reviews! I wasn't expecting to get this much. Thank you to all!**

 **And also, by the way: just because there isn't a bracket encasing the characters' names doesn't mean there won't be any romance between them. And also, though I have said Dany and Jon were important characters to the story I never said they would be paired. And I'm not ruling out any chance that they wouldn't be paired, just don't expect anything ;) that's all, thank you! I hope you appreciate this week's chapter.**

 **I never expected this to be so long at 4.6k words, I just wrote and wrote and... here it is. I hope I could keep this length up despite school. And also, this chapter is unedited, so please excuse any mistake I might have made. Many thanks!**

 **Next chapter comes next Saturday, stay tuned! :-)**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

* * *

"Why is that wretched child here?" She asked, her voice full of fury. "Whose fault is this?"

She had decided to visit Dany's nursery. She was seven moons into her child bearing, and, due to her condition, not much was expected of her anymore which left her more time to do as she pleased. She usually spent said time in Daenerys' chambers more often than not, anyways. Dany was already learning how to crawl slowly; at times she would see her trying to move herself with her hands and feet when she was placed on her front. She thought it crazy that the child was growing so quickly. It seemed like yesterday that she'd been so very small, looking at her with the same violet eyes that her brother Rhaegar once had.

She hadn't expected to find her husband's bastard playing with Daenerys when she came in. She felt anger, then protectiveness over Dany as if the wretched bastard was capable of hurting Daenerys. The two babies were merrily playing together, a toy wolf in Dany's hands and a dragon in the bastard's. The two wetnurses watched over them, smiles on their faces as they sat in front of the hearth next to the two children. But when Cersei came in, they immediately stood up, fear etched on both faces as they prepared for the onslaught of the Queen's wrath. Cersei, overcome with anger, had spoken immediately.

Wylla, the bastard's wetnurse, had answered immediately, saying, "I am sorry, your Grace, it was—it was my fault, not Synda's."

"Why did you bring that... monster in here?" Cersei inquired, fury inside her building up as each second passed. It took all self-restraint not to slap the wetnurse, no matter how much she wanted to. The bitch would no doubt go to her husband to tell her off.

"I apologize, your Grace, I thought it would be best for Jon to have a playmate, he never—"

"I don't care," said Cersei, cutting her off. "Bastards should never linger with highborns, no matter the consequences. Daenerys is a Targaryen, and that... monstrosity, is a bastard. He may be the King's bastard, but he is a bastard nonetheless. And hasn't my husband told you that it should be kept secret?"

"Y-yes, my Queen," the wetnurse answered, but Cersei ignored her.

"If I ever catch that child anywhere near Daenerys ever again I'll have you killed before the hour is over," Cersei threatened, "Get out of my sight, and bring the bastard with you."

The wetnurse quickly bent and carried the bastard. The child argued using a bout of angry coos, and threatened to cry as he extended both his arms towards Dany. The wetnurse opened the door just as he exploded into tears. He cried so loud that though the door was already closed and though she had heard the door to the child's nursery open and close she could still hear him.

Day and night she prayed for the Stranger to take the monster into his arms. She prayed that the bastard would be inflicted with some sort of disease, sickness, _illness_ that would finally kill it. She wanted it gone. She couldn't stand the thought of a bastard stealing her son's throne if it came to it. She didn't doubt for a second that the news of the bastard had already spread throughout the Keep—after all, secrets were rarely kept in King's Landing. They seemed to seep through the walls and into the ears of its inhabitants. She didn't doubt Varys already knew—and the new Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish or 'Littlefinger' he was called. Lysa Arryn had persuaded her husband, the Hand to let him take the position—all because he was a childhood friend and Hoster Tully's ward.

She'd heard a long time ago that he had been the one to take Lysa's maidenhead. She had also heard that Lysa'd gotten pregnant by him, and that her father had forced her to drink moon tea in order to get rid of it. Hoster Tully did not want his daughter to marry someone of low nobility like Petyr, despite what had happened. The loss of her maidenhead was also the reason why Lord Tully had had a hard time finding a suitable husband for Lysa. If you asked Cersei, Lysa was even lucky to have had Jon Arryn as a husband instead of some bannermen of her father's, just like what had happened to her ever-bitter sister, Catelyn Tully. The whore was to be Queen; she was to be married to Eddard Stark until the latter had decided to forfeit the betrothal and marry her instead.

She had started spending meals with her husband again. He had come to her once, while she was in her solar pouring over a book she had borrowed from the Keep's library. He had asked her if she would like to join him in supper. Seeing that she couldn't refuse an offer from her husband—the King—she said yes. But they both were quiet; Cersei was mum as she ate her meal, the tension between them unbearable. Ever since they fought about her husband's bastard, their relations had come to an all-time low. There were many unspoken topics between them, one of which was regarding the wench that was his bastard's mother. She could not find it in herself to call him by his name anymore—she could only call him formally, following the right courtesies. And it seemed to her that Eddard was feeling the tension between them as well, not asking her to call him by his name again and opting for formalities as well. She knew he would, but she knew that he knew that things had changed between them.

Though there was a part of her that wanted to bring certain aspects of their relationship back, she still thought herself lucky to have been married to a kind man. Though Eddard was solemn, serious, _collected_ , he never hurt her nor slandered her, not even when she raised her voice against him during their fight regarding his bastard. He respected her, he was _kind_ to her and that was enough. And besides, she could have easily been married to a man who beat her, curse at her, and disrespected her. But that was not so. She was married to the King, a kind man who did otherwise. She would forever be grateful to the gods.  
She still attended Council meetings—she did not stop, per se. Even after her husband arrived she was still permitted to attend if she wanted to. And so she did, even if sometimes her condition would make it difficult to do such things. She stayed as quiet as a mouse during Council meetings, opting to listen and take note of how each and every member took in one's opinion. Littlefinger, the new addition, seemed like a snake to her. And Varys, the eunuch and the master of Whisperers was already known throughout Westeros to have spies in every corner of the Kingdom—and even in the Free Cities. It would be best to veer away from him, she thought the moment he had spoken to her during one of the first meetings she'd ever attended.

She was in her husband's chambers, taking supper. They were quiet, as usual, and a guard stood post both in and out of the room. She ate quietly, like always. Tonight she did not have much of an appetite, and the babe inside her had been moving restlessly since morning. She tolerated the child moving about all the time, but today he'd been kicking and moving nonstop it was beginning to unnerve her. It was as if something was wrong—but she hoped not. She was about to take another bite from her meal when the babe kicked her hard in her lower right abdomen, making her cry out slightly, drop her utensils and rub said part. Her husband seemed perturbed by her actions and immediately asked, "Is something wrong?"

She looked up, but her hand still soothed the place where the babe kicked. Worry was etched on her husband's face. "It is fine," she answered, "He just kicked a little bit too hard, that is all."

She finds herself smiling at her husband, the first time she's ever done so in a long time. It was nice to see that he cared—she knew that he cared for her, it was obvious—but she felt like alleviating his worries. Butterflies formed in her stomach when he smiled back at her. It was unlike her to feel this way—after all, she couldn't ever love her husband. _Love is weakness_ , it always has been and it always will be. And though he may be kind she doesn't think that she could ever trust him.

Her husband was about to speak when all of a sudden, someone burst through the door. It was the bastard's wetnurse, all flustered and sweaty. The guard followed immediately after her and grabbed the woman by her arm, pulling her outside. She and Eddard immediately stood up; she clutched her belly as she watched the scene unfold. Eddard intervened with the guard, and ordered him to let the wetnurse go.

"Release her," said Eddard, "Leave us."

The guard did what was told, and left, his golden armor clanking as he did. The guard posted inside closed the door and stayed sessile yet again, standing still by the door in case the King needed him or ordered something from him. The wetnurse looked disheveled, almost to tears. She stood akwardly in front of them.

"What is it, Wylla?" Eddard asked. "Speak."

The wetnurse spared no time and quickly said, "It's the babe, your Grace," "He has a fever. This morning it was mild, I dismissed it and thought he would be alright. It is quite normal for babes and I thought he'd be better by now, but the fever's spiked and his temperature is very high, almost dangerous. I thought to come to you immediately."

She looked at her husband as an expression of alarm spread on his face. "Get the maester, he told the guard, who quickly opened the door and did so. Eddard and the wetnurse, Wylla she was called, followed. Cersei finds herself following in her own pace as well, waddling behind them. She does not know what compelled her to do so. They arrived at the babe's nursery, just as Grandmaester Pycelle did. It came to her as a surprise how fast he did so—he was an old man, after all. She stayed mute in the corner as they fussed on about the babe. Nobody seemed to notice her as they went on.

The gods seem to be favoring her. Hadn't all she wished for was for the babe to get sick and die? And now, it seems that the Stranger had finally granted her prayers. She seemed positive that the child was going to die, that it would perish in the middle of the night due to fever caused by some unknown malady. The thought should have filled her with joy, but instead she felt nothingness. Wylla was holding the babe as Pycelle diagnosed the problem. She seemed to care very much about the babe, as if she was the babe's mother. But that could not be—Eddard himself had told her that the babe's mother had died in childbirth. She looked at the babe—it seemed very small, and very fragile. She imagined her own child in place—what if he had contracted the disease instead? What if he had perished due to it? She suddenly felt selfish; hoping and praying to the gods that an innocent babe would die just so her needs would be justified.

It was her fault. She felt responsible for the child, as it was mainly because of her that he had contracted the disease. The child did not deserve to die. She walked closer to her husband and the wetnurse as Pycelle said, "I am afraid that he is in grave condition," said Pycelle, "If the fever does not break tonight it can be very dangerous for the babe. It may even lead to death. I am deeply sorry, your Grace." "The best we can do is wait."

She sees her husband nod, grief masked on his face. "Wylla—"

"I will stay by his cradle the whole night, your Grace," said the wetnurse, "The fever will subside, I am sure—"

"No," said Cersei suddenly, "I will stay by him."

"Cersei—" started Eddard.

"Eddard," said Cersei. It was the first time she had ever used his name again. It certainly surprised him, for he was taken aback and was unable to speak for a while. She would look after the babe, take care of him throughout the night until his fever broke. She would not let him die. "Let me."

"You are with child, Cersei—" Eddard retorted, only to be cut off.

"It matters not," said Cersei. Surely one night wouldn't matter? It wasn't that she did not care for the babe she was carrying, but technically she was responsible for her husband's child. She had to take care of it. "Leave us."

Grandmaester Pycelle left, but not her husband and Wylla. She motioned for Wylla to give her the babe, which the wetnurse had done so hesitantly—maybe because she was afraid that she would kill the babe when her back was turned. Cersei took the babe in her arms, wherein the child settled nicely between. The babe's temperature soared above normal, and she knew that not letting the child's temperature go higher would be a hard task. A close eye must be kept on him the whole night. "Get me clean cloths and a basin with cold water," Cersei ordered, which Wylla had done quickly, as if she could refuse an order from the Queen. She left, leaving Cersei and Eddard alone with Jon.

Cersei laid the babe on the wooden cradle, where it closed its eyes and began to doze almost immediately. She avoided her husband's eyes, knowing that the moment she looked at them he'd speak and ask her _why_. He probably thought she was planning something sinister regarding his son.

She couldn't very much tell him why she did what she did.

Wylla came back, clean white cloths slung on her arm and a basin of water in the other. She laid the objects on the small table beside the babe's cradle. Cersei then took a cloth, folded it horizontally, then dipped it in the water and squeezed it. She then bent over the babe then, putting the cloth atop his forehead and rubbing it a few times before finally setting it just right in the middle. She could feel all eyes on her, and before anyone could say anything, she spoke.

"You may leave if you'd like." She told her husband, looking him straight in his blazing grey eyes, a pair just like the babe's.

Eddard looked at her for a moment, and nodded. He muttered something before leaving, though Cersei did not understand. The night went on, and they had only succeeded in lowering the babe's temperature just a little. He was quiet, the babe—only staring at her as she fussed about him. He no doubt was new to it, for there was no one other than Wylla, his wetnurse, that took care of him. She sat on the chair she had Wylla place next to the cradle, her eyes focused only on the child. Jon Waters looked just like his father; almost no trace of its whore of a mother was observable. She supposed that their son—Ned's and her's—would look just like Jon.

It struck something in her, something she could not pinpoint. She felt entirely responsible for the babe; and if it died she would be to blame. How immature of her, wishing death upon an infant not even a nameday old. Though she could not stomach the thought of the child living with them in the Keep, it was not right for her to wish ill upon the babe.

Now she wished the child be cured. It did not deserve the fate that might be given to him—dying at such a young age.

The child's temperature did not vary; if anything, it seemed to get higher as the hours passed. Cersei started to panic, though she did not show it. If they did not get its temperature to lower even a little, it might not even lower at all and may get even higher. She had been rubbing the cloth dipped in cold water all over the babe the past few hours, and if it worked earlier now it did not even have an effect. Cersei thought of a way—she hoped it would work, that they could keep the child's temperature at bay. If not, well... She did not want to think about it.

"Wylla," said she, which prompted the wetnurse to stand up from the seat she was sitting on in the corner. "Fill half a tub with water. Quickly."

Wylla did as she was told. Cersei waited; standing in front of Jon's cradle and staring at him like a hawk, as if she let her eyes linger even for a second he might perish. She could not let him die. She would forever be in guilt.

They say that there was a price to pay if you wanted the gods to do your bidding. Something you had to give up; something that meant everything to you, or something you did not want to stop doing. Something that pained you; that you would not want to give up or stop. And Cersei knew full well what she needed to sacrifice for the babe's well-being—even if she hated the babe, even if she thought of it as poison.

"Gentle Mother, please make him well," said Cersei, "Stranger, please keep him away from your arms. I regret what I have wished, I do not want ill to come to the babe. Do not take him away."

"I'll treat him as my own," Cersei prayed, "I will be kind to him just as I am to Daenerys Targaryen. I will protect him from harm, and see to it that he grows up joyfully. He will not be treated differently from the children I may have. All this I promise."

"My Queen," Wylla then said from behind, a few minutes after her prayer, "I have done what you have ordered."

Cersei bent, and lifted the child into her arms. Jon was wide awake; he felt hot in her arms. He did not fuss, and kept quiet as Cersei carried him towards the tub. Cersei knelt—a somewhat hard task to accomplish due to her ever growing belly. She removed the child's clothes, one hand holding him as the other did the task. When the babe was fully unclothed, she submerged him into the water, his head up as Cersei's arm supported his back. The water reached his neck, and he seemed nonplussed by what Cersei had done. He seemed even relieved. Cersei used her other hand to scoop water and slowly pour some over Jon's head. They stayed like that for an hour; Wylla had given her a stool to sit on as she did her task. When she lifted Jon up from the water, his temperature had gone down; as if his fever had already subsided. She quickly dressed him with the clothes she had Wylla get.

She returned him to his cradle, and, soon enough, the sun's rays started to cast upon the nursery. Cersei was drowsy, her head leant on the wooden beams of Jon's cradle. Wylla was asleep, her head leant against the wall. Cersei closed her eyes. Minutes later—or so it seemed to her—she opened them again, and the sun had fully risen, one of its rays touching her face. She thought to check Jon—and when she did, she saw him cooing inside his cradle, a fist inside his mouth as he offered her a gummy grin. She put her hand on his forehead—he was not hot anymore. To make sure, she then put her hand against his neck. His temperature was normal; the fever completely subsided.

Someone then knocked on the door, waking Wylla from her slumber.

"Enter," Cersei said.

The door was opened behind her, and she turned to see her husband and Maester Pycelle.

"The fever has subsided," said Cersei, and she looks to see her husband sporting a very peculiar look on his face—one of relief, and one she could not pinpoint. Maester Pycelle seemed relieved altogether. He checked the child, bending over the cradle. Cersei moved aside to let him. He straightened up a minute later, his back to her husband as he said, "My," "The fever seems to be gone altogether."

"Children are indeed resilient," exclaimed Pycelle. "He is in perfectly good condition, your Grace—es. But I would suggest, if you please, looking after him closely for a short while."

Pycelle left awhile later, leaving only she, Wylla, and her husband. Her husband immediately went to her, and said, "Thank you, Cersei."

He then took her hand, and lifted it up to his lips as he planted a soft kiss.

The days passed quickly, and she did just like she promised. She took care of Jon just like she did Dany, although she seemed hesitant at first because the child was her husband's _bastard_. But she quickly warmed up to the child, even having him play with Dany as she sat in front of the hearth inside Dany's nursery—a feat she impressively done despite her big belly hanging in front of her. The babe inside her was growing well—it was huge, and she was carrying low. Didn't that mean she was carrying a boy?

Time passed quickly for her now. She had stopped spending time with the ladies at court altogether, and had started spending most of her time with Dany and Jon. She spent meals with her husband, who had warmed slightly to her ever since what had transpired with his son. He seemed more than thankful for what she had done. Sometimes she even felt that he desired her—if it was possible. She once caught him—or so it seemed to her—looking at her milk-filled breasts. They were heavy, along with the child was carrying, but she was thankful even so. She looked like a whale.

She slept peacefully at night, no problems to think about present. She was contented, there was nothing to worry about.

 _She did not expect a nightmare to strike her one night, after a somewhat tiring day spent with the children._

Her eyes opened. There was fire around her; looming closer and closer as each minute passed by. She was dressed in only her nightgown, standing barefoot in what seemed to be a bland hallway. Not a passageway she could take was present; only a circle of fire. It was dark, she could not see anything past the fire except for walls she seemed were the hallway's. The fire crept closer, only a mere half meter of space between it and her. It felt hot; the fire seemed close enough to almost burn her. She gathered her nightgown, afraid that it might catch fire and burn. The fire kept on creeping closer; it felt hot, she could not do anything about it. The babe inside her trashed endlessly, until it kicked her hard in her lower abdomen which caused her to double over in pain—and, consequently, bring her closer to the fire. She could not find a way out.

All of a sudden, a door opened in the end of the hallway. She did not know how to get there—but if she did not act, she would be burned. She decided quickly, and took the most viable and reasonable option. She ran as fast as she could with her belly and stepped over the fire, feeling its scalding hot temperature resonate from her feet to her entire body. The hallway seemed to elongate as she ran, and she could feel fire looming at her feet. She sacrifices a look behind—she finds that the fire was following her; she could not back for the fire spread out on each meter it passed. Her only option was to run as quick as she could to the door. Her babe was trashing yet again, and kicked her hard in the ribs. She used all self-restraint not to double over. Smoke was abundant, almost to the point wherein she could not breathe. She ran still, puffing and heaving, inhaling all the grey smoke around her. The hallway seemed endless; and she was about to give up when _finally_ , the door got bigger and bigger in front of her as she ran closer and closer to it.

She opened the door—the handle was hot; she almost could not bear it—and stepped inside. She panted, and exploded into a fit of coughs. Her hand was clutching her belly; her babe was not merely trashing then kicking her hard anymore, now the pain was everywhere, her belly was aching. She wanted a place to rest, to sit, but it seemed impossible to find one. She straightened up, and blinked her eyes repeatedly as her view came to focus.

Jaime was standing in front of her, a bright light coming from the ceiling that made her focus on him and only him.

"Jaime," She managed to mutter out in relief, "Oh, Jaime—"

"You're with child," stated Jaime, "It is not mine."

"Of course, Jaime, I did my du—" She could not finish her sentence due to a long, searing pain erupting from inside her. She gasped and cried out, her knees buckling from beneath her.

"It is not mine," said Jaime again, "I care not for bastards that aren't mine, sweet sister."

She was on all fours, her hands supporting her as another pain erupted from within her. "Jaime, please," begged Cersei, looking up at her brother. "H-help me,"

"Of course I'll help you, sweet sister," said Jaime, walking towards her and yanking her upwards harshly by pulling on her arm. "I'll help you get rid of the beast."

She did not understand. It was so unlike Jaime; this was not her Jaime. The Jaime she knew was loving, brave, kind-hearted. This man was not Jaime.

"What are you—" She started to say as Jaime pushed her onto a wall. She stopped talking, however, when Jaime started to caress her bulging belly. The pain was unbearable, she would have collapsed then and there if not for Jaime holding her in place.

"Is this what's hurting you, Cersei?" He asked, and, not a minute later, he harshly pushed on her belly, applying much more pressure than she could bear. She cried out in pain as she tried to get ahold of the hand Jaime was using to push. She could feel something inside her being ripped into two—this was the first time she's ever felt pain of the sort.

"Jaime, stop, _stop_ , it hurts—" She cried—

Suddenly, she jolted up from her bed. Sweat formed all over her; her golden hair plastered on her back and neck as she gasped for air. It was a nightmare, it wasn't real, her Jaime was nothing like the Jaime in her dream. She was about to call for one of the servants; or one of her handmaidens, when pain just like she felt in the nightmare erupted from within her. She moaned in pain, one of her hands supporting her belly's bottom. It was then she felt something wet—and with her other hand, she quickly tossed the blanket covering her bottom regions. There was a pool of something wet beneath her, she could not pinpoint what it was. It was dark, and she put out two fingers—her index finger and her middle finger—together to touch the pool. She put it in front of her—her eyes were straining to see—and it was then that she figured out what it was. _It was blood._

She screamed.

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 _I hope you liked this week's chapter! All your reviews would be very much appreciated. I reached 73 with last week's chapter, do you think we could reach_ _ **80**_ _or more with this?_


	8. viii

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones; neither do I own A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **I'm sorry for the late chapter, I was so busy last week due to school and didn't have the time to type this baby up. But I hope this chapter suffices!**

 **Thank you so very much for all of your reviews, they keep me going :)**

 **Next chapter comes Saturday again.**

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 **Chapter Eight**

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The child was dead.

It could not have survived either way, for it had only been inside her womb for 7 moons—and she knew full well it was too early. The birth was painful, and bloody. She was screaming as she pushed and pushed with all her might, but when the child came out, it did not even take a breath—not one. Maester Pycelle had told her he was not stillborn, but, due to being born earlier than he should have his lungs were not fully developed. He had tried everything to make the child breathe, to no avail. Cersei had cried, _wailed_ as she took in everything. She had requested she be able to hold the child, to which they had surprisingly obliged. For a babe prematurely born, he surprisingly looked just like his father. He had his nose, his hair colour, _everything_ except his cheekbones which he had gotten from her. Eddard was by her, holding her as she completely broke down as she held their son. _Rickard_. That was what she had decided on naming him the moment she had found out she was with child. She did not notice her child being pried from her arms as she was already sobbing and most likely delirious from the birth.

She doesn't understand why. She prayed to the Mother night and day for her babe's health. She took care of herself, ate healthily and on time, avoided stressful matters and the like. But somehow, it wasn't enough. Her Rickard was gone. She'll never get the chance to see him grow, to talk and walk and play with Jon and Daenerys. They would have been inseparable, and she would have been overjoyed. And the child would have been the one sole chance she had to get to her husband. But now he was dead, and she could not bring her child back. The gods decreed so, and she had to follow.

Eddard held her as she cried, _mourned_ for their dead son.

"Eddard," She wailed, "Our son. He's—Rickard—he's _dead_."

Her husband did not say anything, but merely held her as she let out fresh tears onto his jerkin. They stayed like that for hours; even as the midwife and her assistants delivered and cleaned the afterbirth and sewed her up. It took a while before she had stopped crying, but by then only she and Eddard were present inside the room. She hadn't noticed her husband order the people out of the room—or maybe he didn't, and they left on their own accord. Maybe they did not want their Queen's misfortune to spread to them. The thought had made her sob in anguish yet again. No doubt the news had already spread throughout the Keep. The lords and ladies already knew, _everyone_ already knew.

It took a while for her to fully calm down. But Eddard held her still; held her as she shook with the intensity of it all. The sun was shining brightly now; and King's Landing shone with all its glory outside. She was exhausted, more so than she had ever experienced her entire life. She could feel slumber slowly taking her, but her husband had not lessened his grip on her and continued to hold her throughout her ideal.

She woke hours later, not noticing that she had fallen into sleep. A daze of grey and black were before her—the bed's tapestry. Sitting up, she noticed that her husband could not be seen anywhere. In fact, no one could be seen anywhere. And she was not in the birthing chambers anymore, but in her own chambers. Her husband probably forbade anyone to come inside—not even her own handmaidens. And for that she was thankful—she couldn't possibly handle them pestering her the moment she opened her eyes. Peace was what she needed, and peace was what her husband gave her.

She wonders how much time has passed. Has it already been a day, or merely a few hours? That she had to know.

Mustering the strength, she slowly sits up—feeling a small pang of pain coming from her lower regions, making her stop and take a breath—and lowers the blanket covering her. She is dressed in nothing but her shift, her smallclothes beneath them. She couldn't possibly go out wearing what she was wearing at the moment—but people rarely were in the royal apartments, anyways. Even servants were scarcely found in the halls, because they only served a few people—just her and Eddard, for the babes Daenerys and Jon had their own wetnurses to tend to their needs anyways.

She slowly deposited her knees onto the side of the bed, her feet hitting the floor with a thud. She takes a deep breath before pushing herself slowly up and standing. Her knees could not handle her weight just yet, and they buckled before her. Thankfully, she had managed to take ahold of the small wooden table beside her bed. Her hand was placed on her now flat abdomen. She felt light—it was strange not having a big belly distended in front of her, blocking much of her view whenever she'd look down. Not to mention it was very heavy, making her waddle every time she walked. It also made her feet swollen, making things harder even more.

She walked around, her bare feet touching the cold smooth-stone floor. Her chambers were semi-dark, the sun having fallen just a moment ago—or so it feels. But no candles were lit—just enough proof that her husband _had_ forbade everyone to come in. Composing herself, she goes toward the door, one hand on the freezing brass handle. She opens it, only to find out that no guards were posted outside—but no one usually guarded her, anyways, ever since she had told her husband that she disliked having anyone follow her. The guards still looked after her, but from a distance, and inconspicuously. But now the halls were empty, no trace of anyone being there recently.

She does not know what compelled her to do so, but she finds herself walking towards the nurseries. It takes her a while to get there, of course, due to the fact that she had to take step by step carefully. Though the hallways were lit, they too had no signs of people being there recently. She finally arrives, and she opens the door to Jon's nursery.

It was quiet, the candles were lit but no one was inside. Wylla could not be found anywhere, a first ever since she had reprimanded her all those moons ago. Wylla had, no doubt already heard of her misfortune. She could see the stars shining outside the balcony from where she stood. Jon was quiet; she supposed he was sleeping. But Jon had always been a quiet babe; preferring to observe rather than babble like Daenerys usually did. They were inseparable, the two—they played all day long, only separating when it was time for midday naps or sleep. It did not take a smart person to figure out that when they got older, they would still be very inseparable and would no doubt do mischief together.

She slowly walks towards the wooden cradle, each step feeling like she was climbing up a hill. When she finally got there, she peered inside the cradle and saw Jon looking up at her with grey eyes so much like his father. And Rickard, her son.

Her eyes water at the prospect of her dead son. She lifts Jon into her arms and he nuzzles her teats, making them leak with milk. She observes him: he looked just like her Rickard, so alike that they would have passed off as twins just like her and Jaime.

 _Jaime_. She'll never forget the dream she had that night; of Jaime and what he did to the child growing inside her. She still doesn't understand why. Wasn't Jaime her protector; her knight in shining armor? Dreams were dreams, she knew that full well, but why did she have an inkling feeling inside her against Jaime?

She dismissed it. Jon babbled, making her looking at him. He was all Rickard; he looked just like her baby boy, from his coloring to his facial features to _everything_. Everything except his cheekbones, which Rickard had gotten from her. Her tears fell freely now. The birth was bloody; it was possible that she could not produce children anymore. She has heard tales of women with births so grueling, their reproductives had been destroyed. Their children survived, but for some, their children died. She had lost blood, lots of it. The birth itself was gruesome; the child inside her strained to get out. Though delirious, she had seen the look one of the midwife's assistants had given her. She had tore; the midwife had had to sew her cunt afterwards.

The door behind her opened. She quickly used one of her hands to wipe the tears off her face. She did not look behind her, it was probably Wylla. She had never seen her husband visit Jon before—she supposed that he did, she just didn't see him. And she had never asked Wylla before.

"Your Grace," said a voice not belonging to the child's wetnurse but to another person entirely. She recognized that voice. Turning around, she saw Varys the eunuch, the Master of Whisperers.

"What are you doing here?" asked Cersei. She became mindful of what she looked—her golden tresses looked like a mess, her eyes probably had shadows under them and she was wearing only her thin, white shift. She did not look presentable, especially in front of this man.

"The child's... wetnurse asked a favor from me," said Varys calculatingly, "I have come to give her what she asked."

Cersei wondered what it was. She did not ask, however.

Varys spoke. "I am terribly sorry for your loss, my Queen." "Any mother would be devastated."

"Yes," said Cersei, "The gods have no mercy. I suppose that's why they're gods."

"I heard that your son looked just like his father... and Jon Waters." Varys said.

Cersei narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"I did not mean to disrespect you, your Grace," said Varys, "But..."

"What is it?" Cersei asked.

"Your son—my birds have said he was an exact replica of Jon Waters." said Varys, "With a few differences, of course."

"What do you mean?" Cersei asked again, repeating her question.

"The child... could be yours," Varys finally said after almost a minute of silence. _"Jon Waters could be yours. If you choose to, your Grace."_

Jon Waters was a bastard. He was her husband's bastard. Though her hatred of him had perished, she just could... not. Her pride would not let her. But it was possible that she would not be able to produce children anymore. She did not want to think about it—her husband would probably cast her away like Rhaegar did Elia and replace her with a younger, fertile woman that could give him a son. And what would happen to her? Would she be cast away to Casterly Rock and be left to rot? A supposed broodmare left to waste?

She could not let that happen.

She hesitated before saying, "I—the news has spread throughout the Keep." "The midwife and her assistants—"

"—may easily be killed. There _are_ ways, your Grace." Varys says, cutting her off. She doesn't mind in the slightest—after all, he was helping her. But _why_? "It is best to act early as possible. The lords and ladies may easily be fooled into believing other reasons—or rumours, whatever you like to call it."

"Why are you helping me?" She asks, one brow raised. In a place like this, help often comes with a price. And she didn't know who Lord Varys was loyal to.

"For the good of many, your Grace," "The Red Keep deserves at least a small amount of happiness."

Cersei nodded, then looked at the babe in her arms. Jon's resemblance to her own son still made her want to weep, but she resisted. _Not in front of someone else_. But Varys' plan would work. She could say that he rumours about her losing her babe were merely midwifes' tales and should not be believed. She could tell them that the gods had blessed her and Eddard that despite her child being premature, it had lived and will live. It would work.

Jon Waters would be her son.

"Thank you," said Cersei after a minute of silence. "Thank you."

"The pleasure is mine, your Grace," said Varys.

Just then, Wylla came back, opening the door wide. She was carrying a multiple of things—she didn't know what they were and didn't bother asking.

"Your Grace," said Wylla, trying to curtsey the best she could with the things in her hands on the way. "Lord Varys."

She noticed that Wylla was flustered. Sweat beaded around her neck, and strands of hair were plastered on her forehead. Her eyes were puffy—or so Cersei thought—as if she had cried not long ago. She was pale as well, and Cersei could feel that if not for the things she was carrying she would have been wringing both her hands together. But despite all that Wylla was thinking, Cersei knew she was wondering why she was up and about just hours after her bloody birth. Wylla no doubt knew, of course. If anything, she might have been one of the firsts to know.

She was still carrying Jon in her arms. He was silent, merely staring at her and observing her with his eyes. One look from Cersei was all it took for the child give her a gummy grin, and a bout of giggles soon after. Instead of lifting her spirits, it broke her heart. Her Rickard would have been just as happy as Jon Waters was, maybe even more.

Nodding at them both, Cersei put Jon back inside his crib and went on her way. Though curious regarding what Wylla needed Varys for, she did not ask anyways. She needed to get to her husband—fast. Varys had told her to act as early as possible, in order for their—her—plan to be believable. She did not have to maneuver throughout the Keep's labyrinthine corridors all the way to her husband's solar, thankfully. The trek alone was very hard for her, she kept one hand on her abdomen as she took each step towards her destination.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she had reached Eddard's solar. She took a deep breath before knocking slightly. Two of the Kingsguard were posted outside—they did not bother her, for she was the Queen and therefore had authority over them. But she knew they were curious as to why she was not recovering and resting instead.

"Enter," Her husband said from inside. The door in front of her opened, and she stepped in as quick as she could in her state.

Another member of the Kingsguard was posted inside. Eddard looked up from his desk—he was writing a letter, she did not know to whom. Her husband's eyes slightly widened all of a sudden, and he laid the quill he was holding atop the table. She walked slowly towards Eddard's desk, a hand still on her abdomen. The door behind her was closed.

"My Queen," rasped Eddard, "You should be resting. Maester Pycelle said—"

"I care not," replied Cersei, "We have an important matter to discuss."

"Please, Cersei," said Eddard, "Whatever you would like to talk about may be talked about after you have gotten your rest."

"No." She said, "I would not have come to you if it was not of importance."

"Cersei—"

"I would like to talk in private." said she, gesturing towards the Kingsguard posted inside the room.

Eddard hesitated before saying, "Ser Meryn,"

"My King—" Meryn Trant started, but was then cut off.

"The Queen and I would like to speak in private."

With a bow, Meryn exited the room, his golden armor shining as sunlight from the window touched it slightly. As soon as they were left alone, Eddard spoke.

"You need to rest. The birth has been hard on—"

"I know," said Cersei, her heart breaking at the prospect of her son dying, "I understand."

Eddard merely nodded. "I will escort you back to your chambers."

"No," Cersei quickly said.

"Is this about...?" Eddard asked. It felt like someone was twisting a knife on her heart, but she knew Eddard had meant her no harm. The pain was fresh, and she was a madwoman to seem to have moved on so quickly by suggesting what she was about to say. But she doesn't think she'll ever get over her son's death. He will always have a place in her heart, and no one could replace that.

"Jon Waters," Cersei simply said.

"What about my son?" Eddard asked, his voice taking on a serious tone. "Jon is—"

She did not know how to tell him—it was new, she always knew how to handle everything despite the circumstances. She hesitated before speaking.

"He could be ours." She outright said, wringing both her fingers together. She knew she sounded like she was out of her wits; it was now that she realized that she really should have fixed her appearance before setting out of her chambers. Her gaunt face, overly messy golden locks and her dirty-looking night gown added more to the illusion that she _was_ out of her wits.

"What do you mean, Cersei?" Eddard inquired, confusion forming on his face.

"I cannot produce children anymore, can't I?" asked Cersei. Though she was not sure, it was the only way to know for herself without finding out from another.

Eddard looked flustered. "How—?"

"That old man Pycelle told you, did he not?" "I know—knew. The birth alone could have killed me, just like what happened to my mother. I was lucky to have survived. I saw how much blood was present."

"The gods spared me from death, but in turn they took away my ability to conceive."

"He could be ours," Cersei continued, "He could be ours. Mine and yours."

"What do you mean, Cersei?" asked her husband. "Jon is a bastard. He is my son."

"He is the _King's_ bastard. I cannot produce children anymore." Cersei paused. "I do not want—I cannot return to Casterly Rock."

It was then that the dam of her emotions finally exploded yet again. A tear slipped out from her eye, she tried to stop but could not. Tears were flowing down her cheeks now, and she had to take hold on Eddard's desk to keep herself upright. She bowed her head low; she did not want to be seen crying by her husband even after her display hours earlier at their son's birth. It was then that she realized what she did not really want to happen—she did not want to return to Casterly Rock; to be branded as a failed broodmare. Even peasants would not want to marry her. She did not want to be cast aside like dirt by the King himself. She was outright sobbing now, and all of a sudden two hands took ahold of her arms. Eddard pulled her to him carefully; it seemed that he was taller than her by a head. She buried her head onto his chest and wrapped her arms around him; her tears were cascading upon his jerkin but he did not seem to care.

"He could be ours," Cersei said, pulling her head away. Though speech was hard for her, she manage to muster out what she had to say. Tears fell onto her nightgown, wetting them yet again. "He could be Jon Stark, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms, our son. Your heir. "

"I care not for his mother." Cersei finally said. "You were at war, it was understandable. I understand now."

She could use her tears for an advantage, she realized. She let the waterworks out yet again. "Please do not return me to Casterly Rock."

She was sobbing as Eddard thought of what she had just said. One of his hands was now spread on her hair, rubbing up and down in an attempt to soothe her.

"An oath should not be broken," said Eddard, releasing himself from her but letting his hands hold her on both her arms. "I took one when we wed."

"Thank you." said Cersei. "Thank you, Ned."

* * *

 _I reached 85 with the last chapter! Do you think we can reach **90**_ _this time?_

 _I appreciate every single one of your reviews and reply to them through PM. Constructive criticism is appreciated as well!_


	9. ix

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones; neither do I own A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **I'm back, guys! Early update! I'm sorry for not updating for two months—school has been so busy lately. This chapter is unedited so I'm sorry for any grammatical or typographical error you may encounter. And also, thank you so very much for all the reviews! I hadn't expected to get so much in the last chapter!**

 **And also: to all the negative reviews regarding Cersei's apparent inability to produce children—remember that this is set in a time and place wherein they didn't have tools to really determine if a woman was barren or not. Pycelle was merely deducing.**

 **Anyways, enjoy! Next chapter comes Saturday.**

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

* * *

The days melted into weeks, then to months. Cersei found herself busy every day, be it Small Council meetings, taking care of Jon—and sometimes Dany, and making sure everything in the Keep was spic and span. The pain of losing her eldest child was still raw, but her grief slowly ebbed away as time passed. Jon Waters, now formally named Jon Stark, seemed to have flourished even more when Cersei'd kept him close by in a cradle inside her chambers. Jon seemed to already recognize her as his mother, always wanting to be in her arms or anywhere near her. Not that it mattered to Cersei, though—it was vital for keeping up appearances, and Jon now had a place in her heart much similar to that of her son's. She treated him like her own just like she did Dany—and though very busy with Jon, she always allotted time for the two of them alone, with Wylla taking care of Jon while she was gone and Synda off to the kitchens, busying herself with the work.

She and Ned had formally introduced Jon to the court on his supposed 'third' moon. He was, of course, bigger than a three-moon old babe, for he was actually seven moons old. If anyone noticed, however, they did not comment about it. The ladies cooed over Jon who was in her arms, while the lords congratulated Ned for securing an heir to the throne—and within the first year of their marriage. It was a celebration to behold. Everyone was happy and delighted.

Their relationship had improved significantly. They ate meals together just like they used to, but this time their meals were conversation-filled and were not spent awkwardly like they used to be. There were no more one-worded answers to questions. Their conversations felt freer, brighter. The wall between them seemed to vanish little by little each passing day. Though she knew she could never love her husband, what was stopping them from being friends?

Today she was with Jon—as usual—in her chambers. He'd been fussy the whole morning, wanting everything and nothing all at the same time—Cersei found it hard to keep up with him. He'd only calmed when Cersei placed him on the rug in front of the hearth with all his toys. He crawled so quickly now—if you looked away even for a second, he'd be lost and out of sight by the time you remembered to look back at him. It had happened, once, and Cersei spent a whole hour looking for Jon in her quarters—she'd found him in her solar, hiding just under her writing desk. Cersei learned to never take her eyes off the babe after that.

Jon patted her legs, making Cersei raise an eyebrow at him. He then takes her hand, and pries it open then places the wooden dragon he'd had in hand inside. Cersei smiles, and asks him playfully, "What would you have me do with this, Jon?"

Jon shoots a confused look at her, then smiles at her and laughs as he says, "Mama," "Mamamamama."

 _Mama_.

Cersei was held aback—this was Jon's first word. He had called her 'Mama' like she was actually his mother, not someone who was only pretending to be.

 _But wasn't Cersei his rightful mother? Hadn't she known what responsibilities she'd have to take once she had proposed to have Jon pose as her son?_

"Mama?" Jon asks and lets out a whine, his little brows furrowed in worry. He must've noticed her teary expression. Cersei blinked her eyes repeatedly, and plastered on a smile as she said, "Yes, sweetling," "Mama."

She took Jon in her arms, wherein he wiggled until he was free from her hold. He then tried to stand and balance himself—and was able to, albeit only for a minute. Cersei had her hands readied at his back in case he fell. Jon tried again and again, seemingly desperate to learn how to walk already. He fell numerous times, but Cersei was there behind him every time to catch him. They walked around her quarters, with Cersei holding his little chubby arms, guiding him wherever he wanted to go. The remaining time was spent guiding him how to walk—and Jon had been drowsy when they had finished. Cersei had put him to sleep, and he was already slumbering fitfully when Lady Senelle and her other ladies-in-waiting had knocked and escorted her to the gardens for tapestry-sewing with the other ladies in court, along with Lysa Arryn.

She was still a spiteful bitch, still bitter for she was the one on the throne and not Catelyn Tully. Cersei knew she still thought that she had stolen the throne from her sister. A part of her was weary of Lysa, due to the fact that she may very well be one of the people who knew the truth about Jon, and her real son. But if Lysa knew she would have, no doubt, already told and spread to others the news. But she hadn't, which meant that she may very well not know about anything, which eased Cersei's qualms about the whole thing.

The whole ordeal was quiet, with the ladies asking about Jon and telling her about the gossip of the court. Lysa Arryn was mum; Cersei supposed she had learned her lesson from the last time they'd sewn tapestries. Cersei was pleased; she was not in the mood to deal with Lady Arryn and her whining. It all seemed so quick, and soon enough the sun was setting and it was time for supper.

As usual, she dined with Ned. He had had a busy day, dealing with the commoners' worries and problems. Some of them were silly—Ned had even laughed, a rarity for she always saw him looking solemn and serious. He told her about a merchant, his wife, and a peasant. The merchant had found out his wife had been having an affair with said peasant, and that the merchant had caught his wife stealing money from him to give to her 'beloved.' Needless to say, the merchant was fuming, and had demanded that the peasant be executed by cutting his head off then and there. Ned had digressed, and let the wife speak then, wherein she had said that her husband was a simpering fool, and never had time for her or their child. She had even asked for their marriage to be absolved; in order for her and the peasant to be able to marry. She had proclaimed her love for the peasant, and the merchant—who seemed to still hold love for his wife—was distressed.

Cersei found it idiotic: the peasant would not be able to provide for their needs; they would be forced to live a hard life and would end up in Flea Bottom—if they weren't already there. But she supposed that was what love does—it made you act stupidly all for the sake of the person you loved. She vowed never to fall into its trap.

"Jon said his first word today." She told Ned, who was currently indulging a piece of his steak. Ned looked up, and raised one eyebrow at her, motioning for her to continue.

Cersei looked down at her food and said, "'Mama,' he called me." "I hadn't expected him to say his first word before his nameday. He is a smart babe."

Ned smiled, and said, "He is shy around me." "I am glad he isn't so with you."

"You ought to spend time with him," Cersei said, "He's only shy around strangers... he's your son, it isn't proper for him to act so keen around you."

Ned nodded, and said, "I suppose so, my Queen." He continued eating his meal. Cersei did so as well.

The time had come when both of them had finished eating their meals, and Cersei had stood up first after wiping her face clean of any bits of food that might've stuck. "Thank you for tonight, Ned." She'd said, and turned around to proceed towards the door. But before she was able to open it, Ned had said, "I will escort you to your rooms... if it please you."

Cersei had smiled at him and nodded, and waited for Ned to come by her side and open the door for them both. No guards were posted outside—she supposed her husband had relieved them of their duties for the night, deeming himself safe from any harm. Ned had offered her his arm and she took it, and they walked all the way to her chambers, a short distance for it was almost in the same hallway as her husband's, only that you needed to turn right and go down a short set of stairs. Both of them were silent, a small tension forming in the air as they went on about their way. Finally, they had reached the door to her chambers, with Ned opening it for her before she could do the task herself.

"Thank you," said Cersei. Ned faced her, his grey eyes blazing with intensity. Her cheeks flared, and, along with it, desired pooled in her belly. "You're welcome, Cersei." He'd said in turn. His eyes bored unto her green ones, and for a moment she ran out of words to say—if there were even any words to be said. They stood there for a whole minute, the both of them silent, eyes locked into each other's, refusing to back down. None of them were moving—it felt like a force was keeping her in place... or was it just her? It was only then Cersei noticed how close they already were—only a mere inch was between his body and hers. The tension in the air was unbearable, and, in a moment of sheer stupidity, Cersei had closed the space between them and crashed her lips unto his like a wench. It took her husband a whole ten seconds before returning the kiss, using his tongue to penetrate her mouth. She felt his strong arms snake around her back to pull her to him tightly; her hands were clutching his jerkin, opening and closing as their kiss became more passionate by the minute.

He pushed her against the wall, pinning her there with a hand whilst the other remained on her back. Her hands found the laces of his breeches, and, just when she was about to start to untie them, Ned had pulled out and took a breath. Cersei took gulps of air as well; her lips were now swollen. "Cersei—" Ned said, and was about to speak again when Cersei cut him off. She could tell that her husband wanted to fuck her; she could feel his manhood straining against her hands. But he respected her, and respect always came first to him before his desires.

"Please," Cersei had said almost pleadingly. She could have said no, yet something compelled her to say yes. Her husband wasted no time, and lifted her into his arms. Just when he was about to proceed towards _her_ chambers she said, "No. Jon might wake."

Ned didn't say anything, but instead hastily walked towards his chambers with her in his arms. They were there in no time, wherein he'd deposited her on his bed and crashed his lips unto hers, positioning himself in between her legs. Her hands were doing their best to untie his breeches and thankfully, she managed to after a minute. She pulled them down, along with the cloth covering her husband's manhood. It sprung free quickly, erect and begging for release. He ripped her dress; leaving her only in her smallclothes—but not a minute later he'd ripped them off of her as well, leaving her spread like a hawk.

Her husband bent down and sucked on her left nipple, licking the areola surrounding it as his right hand fondled and kneaded her other breast. She moaned. She hadn't had sex with him in a year—or even more. It made her extra sensitive; it also intensified her need twicefold. Ned had then started working on her other breast, sucking and licking as she moaned loudly.

"Inside me," Cersei moaned, " _Please_."

Her hands tried to find his manhood and take ahold of it, but Ned had moved backwards and had started kissing her downwards—first her belly, then her navel; slowly descending until her reached her _there_. His tongue plunged inside her, followed by a digit. They slipped in and out of her in rhythm, Cersei could feel herself climaxing by the minute. Her husband noticed and stopped, not wanting her to come just yet. Ned sat up and positioned himself on her entrance, and finally, he mounted her.

Her entrance was slick with her juices, yet she was still tight and Ned had had a hard time slipping in and out of her in the beginning. Her hips moved in accordance with his; she was now moaning loudly each time he plunged inside her and she didn't care. He fucked her raw and hard; his want for her intensifying just as hers. Finally, she had come, with her husband coming soon after, collapsing on top of her. She could feel his seed inside her—but she cared not. After all, the chances of the seed taking root was almost nonexistent—or so she felt.

"Cersei," Ned had breathed, rolling over and scooting next to her. His strong arms wrapped around her; Cersei did not protest and instead kept mute. They stayed like that for a while; until her husband started to speak. She'd thought he had fallen asleep, but she was wrong.

She felt Ned shift slightly behind her, as if hesitating whether to still hold her in his arms or not. But he'd decided on holding her still, and, after some time, suddenly said, "He is not yours, Cersei," "But he is mine, and you have taken care of him these past moons as if he were your own. Jon means very much to me, and I thank you."

"I—" Cersei starts, but afterwards decides to stop and say something else.

"He is the splitting image of Rickard." Cersei whispers, mostly talking to herself. "Sometimes I feel as if I was holding our Rickard, and not Jon. But I care for him all the same—who will be his mother?"

"I care for Jon as if he was our son, and not your bastard. How could I not?" says Cersei, "The moment you agreed letting him pose as our son was the moment the responsibility of being his mother was passed onto my shoulders. But even so, I do not regret anything."

"I never would have returned you to the Westerlands," said Ned in reply, "Even without Jon. I swore a vow to the gods, and I intend to keep that vow."

They spent the rest of the night in silence, with only the sound of their breaths heard in rhythm. Ned's arms held her tight throughout the still darkness; and in the morning, when the sun had started to rise they'd stayed and had not even moved an inch.

* * *

Ned came to her chambers almost every night after their encounter. She would drink moon tea the morning afterwards—an extra precaution just incase she had actually gotten herself with child. Though she wanted a child of her own—hers and Ned's—she'd decided that Jon was enough; she did not want to go through what she had experienced with Rickard. She was afraid that her next child would die or would be born malformed and would die soon enough. Jon had grown and was big now, having passed his nameday a month back, making him a year old. His actual nameday was four moons back, but, needing to keep up appearances they'd had to spend it at a later date.

There was a tourney, and nobles from far and wide had come to celebrate with them. The Tyrells had come, and so did her family—with the exception of her father, whom she felt had found out the truth about Jon. It was only a matter of time, however. Her father had spies in every corner of the kingdom. Cersei had always known he'd find out sooner or later. Her dwarf brother came, but Jaime did not. Tyrion had told her it was because Jaime had gotten sick, but Cersei believed no such thing. It pained him to see her happy with her 'son'—it pained him so much that he had passed up the opportunity to see her again. Cersei supposed he thought that she was starting to love her husband—which was impossible, considering that Cersei thought love was poison and that if you were to love, you should love only your children and no one else. _To love is to destroy;_ she loved Jaime as well and her love was destroying him. He would be the only one other than her children that she would truly love.

The days passed quickly in a haze; there were times that she could not catch up—her days seemed so busy, with her fulfilling her duties as a Queen, a mother, and a wife. Though she did not like the ladies at court she needed to mingle with them every day, not only to hear the gossip but to show them that though she already had children, she could still fulfill her duties to them as Queen. Jon and Dany had grown so much it was hard to think that they used to be so small, mostly relying on either her or their wetnurse to take care of them. The pair were inseparable—they were the best of friends, and Cersei thought that once old enough, they'd start wreaking havoc around the Keep with their pranks and tricks. Not that Cersei minded—she wanted them to enjoy their childhood as much as they could, something that she only halfway experienced. Her mother had died when she and Jaime were only nine—and it seemed to her that the day her mother died was the day her childhood ended. Afterwards the pressure of being the Lady of the House Lannister was put upon her shoulders; it was then that her father had put upon her the pressure of being the _next_ Queen: he'd told her she would be the next queen; that she needed to take Rhaegar Targaryen's heart for her own and that Rhaegar needed to notice her.

But Rhaegar had not noticed her. He had not even cared about her—he had passed her up for Elia Martell _then_ Lyanna Stark, her husband's sister. She was not Rhaegar's Queen, but she was still Queen—albeit to another man. Tywin Lannister had still achieved what he had wanted for House Lannister to have—a Queen on the throne.

"Wion!" Dany shouted, snapping her out of her thoughts. Dany still had the wooden animals Cersei had made for her. They were starting to get worn, though, as Dany played with them all the time. "W-wion! Howse!"

She decided to spend time with Daenerys—her husband's ward—today. It seemed to her that she hadn't had time alone with the babe for the longest time—she'd been so preoccupied with everything else she'd forgotten all about her. She spent time with her and Jon, but the time Cersei spent with her and only her had been so seldom the past few months. Jon was not with them as he was off napping in his cradle inside her chambers. Daenerys had grown so much along with Jon. A part of her felt bad that she'd been neglecting the babe—after all, hadn't she sworn that she'd take care of the child just as much as she did Jon?

"Yes, my love," said Cersei, "That's a lion and a horse, isn't it?"

Pleased by Cersei's reaction, Dany held up more wooden animals and named them. "Wolf! S-s-snake! Fish!"

"Very good, sweetling," Cersei said, grinning at Daenerys. She held her hands out, and Daenerys slowly walked towards them then held her hands out as well as Cersei engulfed her with a hug and kissed her forehead. Dany looked up at her with her violet orbs with a smile that reached her ears. The fire in the hearth blazed; she could see its reflection in Dany's eyes. Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. Cersei supposed it was Synda; she had ordered her to go down to the kitchens and have her noonday meal and now she was back.

"Enter," Cersei ordered, and the door opened, revealing her husband. She, along with Dany, looked up at Ned. Her arms were still around Daenerys, holding her tight in place. Dany's smile faded, and she turned her back and pressed her face onto Cersei's dress, wimpering slightly. Cersei soothed the child by rubbing a hand up and down her back. She was scared of Ned—this seemed to be the first time she'd ever seen him; and his big frame and serious demeanor seemed to be frightening her. It wasn't strange at all—Daenerys wasn't used to strangers. Though she and her wetnurse, Synda, spent time down at the gardens she was not paraded around the Keep like Jon. And the lords and ladies knew better than to mingle and croon over the only Targaryen left—asides from Aemon Targaryen at the Wall—who was the last remaining child of Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King.

Daenerys was a beautiful child. Not even two and yet Cersei could see she'd grow into a maiden more beautiful than anyone else. Cersei hoped she'd grow to be intelligent, healthy, and right of mind. It was said that every time a Targaryen was born the gods would toss a coin to determine whether the child would be great or would be mad. Aerys Targaryen II was the best example. He would torture and kill those he saw as a threat with wildfire; he would rape and take his wife Rhaella more often than not and leave numerous scars on her; and he had even thought that his own son, Rhaegar, was a traitor.

"Your ladies-in-waiting told me you would be here." Ned started.

"What do you need of me?" Cersei asked, standing up from her position by the fireplace and sitting down on the rocking chair next to Dany's cradle. Daenerys would slip glances at Ned and then press her face onto Cersei's dress yet again.

"We are to go to the North, Cersei," said Ned, "To Winterfell. But if you do not like to do so it is alright. I can make the journey on my own with my personal guard."

"What for?" inquired Cersei, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Is something the matter?"

"None at all," said Ned, "I have wanted to visit my home for almost two years, but cannot due to the duty I have as King. Lord Arryn suggested it to me—I would not have agreed if he had not told me he would handle all affairs while I am gone."

"We will not be gone too long. We will stay there for a moon, then leave for the capital. I had suggested staying for only a fortnight but Jon insisted." "Do you want to come with me, my lady?"

She did not want to go to the North. It was a barren wasteland; though big it did not have much and wasn't as important, unlike the South. But she couldn't refuse her husband's offer, even if he had given her an option. She owed too much to her husband to refuse him: and he was the King. She knew that he wanted to bring Jon to the North for him to see.

"We will come with you," Cersei decided, "Only if I may bring Dany with us."

Ned shot her a look of surprise—it had been so quick that if she had blinked her eye she would not have seem it. With the smallest of smiles he said, "You may bring her with us," "We leave in a week's time."

The week was spent readying the things that they would need on their journey. They would only be a small group—with she, the children and their wetnurses, one of her servants, Ned, and some of the Kingsguard. It would be a quick journey at best, considering how badly her husband wanted to arrive at Winterfell.

They set out the moment the sun came up. It was boring inside her medium-sized carriage—she distracted herself with Dany and Jon both as they played with each other; the sound of their laughter the only thing heard. They set up the tents at night: not too early, and not too late. Ned had come to her that night; for he knew that she was the only one in her tent as Jon and Dany shared their own. They fucked so mercilessly that night it was as if they hadn't fucked in a long while. He had taken her three times, and afterwards, slept. He hadn't bothered to return to his own tent that night.

They were a week into their journey wherein she'd realized that she hadn't had her moonblood for two moons.

* * *

 _Please review! Can we reach more than_ _ **120**_ _in this chapter? I'll reply to your reviews through PM, and if you have any suggestions regarding the plotline you may tell me! I'd appreciate them._


	10. x

**Disclaimer: I don't own Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **I'm sorry for the late update, guys! But a late update is an update nonetheless and I hope you all enjoy. This chapter is unedited, just like the last one. I particularly don't like how I've written the sex scene but I was rushing so that this could be published immediately so yes. I apologize.**

 **Thank you so much for all your reviews! I appreciate every single one of them.**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

* * *

Her heart seemed to have stopped in her chest when she realized. It couldn't be—didn't she take moon tea every morning after she'd had couplings with Ned?

It then occurs to her that she'd actually forgotten. She would have couplings with her husband so often that she had neglected the tea; let alone forgotten to ask her maids to serve it to her. She had thought that she would not get with child, as Pycelle told her that the chances of her conceiving were next to none due to the harsh birth of her son, Rickard. Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she considered all the prospects. Pycelle had told her that if she did get pregnant, she would not be able to carry the child to full term. But if she did manage, however, there was a high chance that the child was addled with disability.

She knew letting it flourish inside her would lead to heartache once she lost it or once it died when she gave birth. What was worse, however, was that the child might even prove fatal to her once she gave birth—just like what had happened to her own mother when she'd given birth to her wretched brother Tyrion. She knew all the dangers that could happen if she carried the child and birthed it, and yet a part of her did not want to lose it. She didn't want to drink moon tea and kill the child in her womb; she wanted to carry it to full term and birth it and raise it together with Jon and Dany.

She decided on telling her husband immediately—it was his child she was carrying; he'd also help her decide what to do. She waited until they had finished their supper; he'd come to her tent again just like he did the night before. She was sitting on her bed as he emerged from her tent's entrance, and she looked him square in the eyes, worry etched on her face. She clenched her fists and released them repeatedly; almost in rhythm.

"Cersei," said Ned, the smallest of smiles forming on his face before realizing there was something wrong. "You look pale. Are you alright?"

"I am," Cersei replied, "I—"

"—I have something to tell you, my King."

She stood up, and walked slowly to where her husband was, but stopped before she was too close. She could not look him in the eyes. Suddenly, two fingers lifted her chin up, making her look at him as his free hand took ahold of her elbow.

"What is it?" asked Ned, "Please. Tell me."

She closed her eyes; she could not look down as her husband's fingers were keeping her head in place. She exhaled a breath and said, "I'm with child."

Ned took a moment before replying. "Are you certain?" asked he.

"I have not had my moonblood for two moons," Cersei replied, "There have also been symptoms."

It was true. She'd been overly sensitive for the past few weeks; her breasts were full and sensitive when touched, she responded more quickly whenever she and Ned would have couplings. She got tired more easily than normal, and had bouts of vomiting in the mornings. How she did not notice earlier was beyond her.

"I did not think it was possible," said Cersei, "Maester Pycelle said the chances of conceiving another babe was next to none. And if I were to conceive, it would be born with disability once I birthed it; or lose it before full term. He had told me that if I were to get with child, the safest option was to miscarry the babe before it posed any harm."

"I do not want to miscarry the babe, Ned," She said, almost pleading. "I cannot."

"You won't," said her husband, "I will not force you, Cersei. The babe is yours as much as it is mine. If you want the babe, then we will keep it."

A weight seemed to lift from her then. Her husband pulled her into his arms, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. They were going to have another child. This time she would make sure that no matter what happened, the child would be born strong and healthy. That night she and Ned slept together. They did not have relations that night; they'd merely slept soundly in her bed, with Ned's arm wrapped tightly around her waist and the sound of their rhythmic breathing the only sound heard.

The days passed soundly. Before she knew it, they were approaching Winterfell, its big castle looming in the distance. It was said that it was bigger than the Red Keep itself; which was true. They were welcomed inside its big walls, and in her carriage she saw in the window a boy—who looked as if he was turning to adulthood soon—who seemed to be her husband's brother, Benjen. He looked between 14 to 16. Ned had once told her that Benjen was about to take the black, but Brandon Stark and their father had died and the Rebellion came to be and afterwards, he became King. This made him the only Stark left to take over Winterfell, and he was forced to take up the position. Ned missed his brother, it was obvious. He could not wait to see him.

She emerged first from the carriage, followed by Jon, then Dany with their respective wetnurses. Ned hugged his brother tightly, all formality lost. They had not seen each other in years, it was understandable how they acted towards each other. Not to mention that they had not had the time to grieve with each other regarding the loss of Lyanna, Brandon, and Rickard Stark. She joined her husband after he and Benjen released each other.

"My Queen," Benjen said and bowed, softly kissing her hand. The boy looked just like his brother, but not quite—he had grey eyes and a stoic expression just like Ned. But Benjen did not seem as serious as Ned was. She felt pity for the boy; she knew he did not want to rule the North. Ned had told her that the castle's maester—she did not remember his name—was teaching the boy how to rule. Ned himself was new when it came to ruling—after all, he hadn't expected to be King. But she knew that he knew that it would be best if he ruled the Seven Kingdoms. Ned Stark was known for his honour; everyone knew he would choose honour before himself in everything.

A feast was prepared for them, with Benjen's bannermen—men of the North—attending. These were people her husband had grown up with, played with. Ned seemed at peace here, in this barren wasteland. Life seemed to be simple; everyone was accustomed to winter. The ladies were quiet, prim and proper, but she'd heard from one of the kitchen servants passing by talking about a lady that wasn't such a lady at all, that that certain lady fought like a man and could battle wars if need be. Cersei wondered who—she thought the woman lucky. As a child, she'd wanted to learn how to fight like a man but her father forbade her to do so. He'd wanted her to be the perfect lady, one groomed to be a Queen. He'd succeeded.

She'd had to wear furs the day after she told Ned about her condition. Though it was summer in the South, the snow still fell in the North and it was said that the cold she felt was nothing compared to winter.

"Are you enjoying the feast?" Ned said next to her. He'd been quite quiet ever since the feast started, which seemed to her queer as she'd expected him to be off talking and spending the night with his bannermen, friends whom he hadn't seen in years. The hall they were in was bigger than the Red Keep's, and noise was prominent, though she thought nothing of it. Jon and Dany were off in their own rooms, slumbering. She'd been given her own room—Ned had told her that the hotsprings below Winterfell heated the rooms, and that her room was one of the most heated among the others.

"Yes," said she, "They have done a great job accommodating us. Please give your brother my thanks."

Ned smiled at her, and nodded. After a while he took his leave, but not before asking her. She was left alone, to her thoughts. Ned had told her he had arranged for the castle's maester—Luwin, he was called—to examine her the next day. Her heart seemed to beat like a drum. They would be staying in Winterfell for a moon, and afterwards leave for the capital. The journey would be short, she hoped she would make it safely in her critical condition. She did not want to stay long in the North; despite the peace it gave somehow she still craved for the charm the South offered.

She left the feast after what seemed to be an hour by herself. Though there were many ladies just like she out and about, she did not feel like conversing with them. She made it a point to remember where the room she had been given was—she did not want to be lost all by herself in the castle. She maneuvered throughout the numerous hallways until finally, she had found the hallway where her quarters were situated in. The children's rooms were located three hallways away, with windows overlooking the entire estate just like hers had, albeit placed on the other side.

She ordered for the maids assigned to her to prepare her a bath as her lady-in-waiting helped her out of her furs and dress, and fixed her hair. She would have to start wearing her hair Nothern style, without any elaborate braids and such. The ladies here let down their hair, untied, but usually with a simple clip or braid for it not to look so bland. Her bath was prepared in no time, and she dismissed the maids and her lady-in-waiting afterwards.

She finished quickly. It was late; she could not hear that much commotion coming from the hall anymore. She dressed in her shift, and just as she was about to lay the door behind her suddenly opened, making her jump in surprise. She turned around, and saw Ned, clearly in his cups as he swayed while walking towards her.

"Ned," said she, "What is the matter?"

Her husband ignored her, and continued walking towards her until they were a mere inch apart.

"You," said Ned as he grabbed one of her breasts, making her gasp quietly. "You—"

"Ned, please," Cersei said as she swatted his hand away from her. "Go back to your rooms. I—"

She was suddenly cut off when Ned collapsed, making her support his weight. He was heavy, she could barely twist her body and put him on her bed. She'd succeeded, and afterwards positioned him on the right so as to make space for her to lie—she would have opted for another room, but it was night and everyone seemed to be asleep. She did not want to disturb the servants to prepare another room for her—Ned was her _husband_ , and besides it would only be for one night. It wasn't like she had not slept with him before.

And so she slept with him, and in the late morning she'd woken up facing him, their faces an inch away and his grey eyes wide open watching her closely.

* * *

The month passed by quickly. Just like what was planned, she went to the maester on the second day of their visit to have herself examined. Maester Luwin confirmed her child-bearing; she was comfortable enough around him to tell him what Pycelle had told her—she left out a few details, of course, and altered the others. She told Luwin that Jon's birth was gruesome, and that it had numerous ill effects on her and her system. She reassured her that her babe was fine, and that she would start showing around the fourth moon or so. Ned was with them—he'd kept quiet and watched from the sidelines as Luwin did his work. Cersei had wanted him to stay, and so he did. Ned had asked Luwin regarding whether the journey back home would be safe enough for her and their child.

Luwin had said yes, but due to what Pycelle had told her—regarding how critical she was and how easy it would be to lose the babe—he had said it would be safer to stay in Winterfell for the rest of her child-bearing. Though she did not want to stay in the North, she was willing to do it for her babe. Ned had seemed fine with it, but they both knew inside he would have to return to King's Landing to fulfill his duties as King. He could not be gone that long—a lot could happen in a few months; especially in a place like the capital. Though Ned trusted Jon Arryn, she knew that he would have to go back sooner or later.

She spent the month with the other Northern ladies, who were all more than happy to accompany her. She made tapestries with them, walked around the castle with them, and sometimes, when her husband was not around, ate her meals with them. They were kind to her; they did not seem like the kind of ladies you would find in the South—yes, they were kind to her, but she'd always had a feeling that they were all just doing so because they wanted to their house's name to be known.

Jon and Dany were adjusting well to the change of environment. She spent time with them both, though she never neglected spending time with Dany and Dany alone ever again. The babe was speaking a lot, now, though never phrases, just words. She loved Dany just as much as she loved Jon—Dany was as much as her daughter as Jon was her son. Once, Dany had called her 'Mama.' And coincidentally, Ned was there, waiting for her to put Dany to sleep so they could have supper. Though she could not find it in her heart to correct the child, she knew she needed to. And so she did.

"Mama, chai-w!" Dany shouted with a giggle while pointing to the chair she was sitting on. Ned was quietly waiting next to her.

Her heart seemed to stop just then. Dany had never called her that until now—she supposed she got it from Jon, who called her Mama whenever they were with each other. The child was on her lap, with dribbles of drool from laughing copiously running down her mouth.

"Cer-sei, my love," said she, "Not mama."

"Mama!" said Dany again, "Mama!"

"No, my love," she said yet again, "Cersei."

She stood up, carrying the child in her arms. She set her down in her cradle, and bundled her up in her blankets and toys. She was a bit restless, though, but Cersei knew she could sleep on her own in a moments' time. She waited until the babe calmed, and afterwards took her leave with Ned. They were midway through the hallway when Ned spoke.

"You care very much for her," Ned stated.

"I do," said Cersei, "I have taken care of her since she was a small babe. She's a lovely child; smart as well. She means just as much to me as Jon."

"She loves you," said Ned, "Just like a mother. If you correct her now she will not understand what you are saying. She considers you as her mother."

"I am as good as," she replied, "I love her as if she were my own, but I am not her mother. I wish I shouldn't need to correct her but I do."

They spent the rest of the trek in silence, and supper as well. She had been aching for him for a while, now, and she had no worries as Luwin had allowed couplings; it wouldn't hurt the babe, he'd said. When they both stood up after they had finished eating, she decided to take the initiative—and kissed him square in the lips hungrily. It took him a minute to return the kiss, but when he did he was kissing just as hungrily as she was and bruising her lips. He lifted and carried her in his arms and made way towards a place she did not know where. She knew he would take her then and there in the hallway if he could, but had decided to resist the urge to.

They arrived in a big chamber; Ned had opened the door and deposited her on the floor once inside. This was his quarters; a big bed was placed inside the room. It was minimally decorated, except for a big deer head mounted just above the fireplace. They had hands on each other, now, and Ned had made his mark on her neck as she removed his breeches. She heard him moan as his erection sprung free, hitting her thighs. He ripped her dress and smallclothes; and pushed her against wall as he pinned her with one hand and slipped two fingers of his other hand in and out of her.

"Ah," she cried; she could feel herself coming close soon. Suddenly, Ned had stopped, and with his now-free hand he lifted her thigh and pushed himself inside her. He pumped inside her rhythmically, making her moan out loud. She did not bother being quiet—she knew no one could hear them.

Her pleasure was coming close; Ned's was as well. He pulled himself out of her, took ahold of her arms, and moved to the bed, taking her with him. He pushed her softly down the bed and she'd obliged, automatically opening her legs for him as he dived in and licked her juices. His tongue penetrated her; he found her pearl and toyed with it with his tongue. She was sweating profusely and moaning nonstop now. Finally, she came, moaning—almost crying—her husband's name out loud. Ned followed, collapsing on top of her.

The time came when the month was over. She and Ned had never talked about it until now—it was absurd, as Ned was not the type to delay important matters. He had decided to stay with her. He told her that he had sent a raven to Lord Arryn a fortnight before and he had replied soon after, telling him to stay with her. She tried to convince him—she told him she was not so heavy with child and that if he left now and returned a short while later he would not be missing much. He gave it a thought, but dismissed it, intent on staying with her for the duration of her child-bearing.

She knew it was crucial for him to return to King's Landing. Even with Jon Arryn there, a lot of matters could happen in a month, let alone six more months. And she knew once the babe was born the chances of him leaving them was next to none. She let him be, though, as she knew that she'd never be able to convince him once his mind was made.

And so they stayed there, in Winterfell, as her belly bloomed and her child started to stir within her.

* * *

 **Please review! I'll reply to every single one of them through PM. Thank you so much, I've reached 130 with the last chap! Do you think we can reach** ** _140_** **this time? If you have any ideas regarding the story you can hit me up anytime!**


	11. xi

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **This chapter's a day late, I apologize! Anyways, thank you sooo much for all your reviews, I appreciate them all. This chapter is unedited, again, in an effort to update immediately, so you'll have to forgive me if you ever come across any grammatical or typographical error.**

 **Next chapter comes next weekend!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

* * *

She worried constantly for the child within her. She was in bed most of the time, only getting up for meals, her occasional short walk in the castle grounds, and whenever she spent time with the children. It bored her to no end; she wanted to do something worthwhile but she knew it would tire her out and would not be good for the babe inside her. She did not want to take any chances; she wanted the child to be born safe and healthy. She supposed their stay in Winterfell would prove good for her—after all, without all the problems happening about in the capital she would not be so stressed all the time. The atmosphere seemed to be healthier in the North; slowly she was becoming used to how things were done in this part of Westeros.

Her husband corresponded with Jon Arryn often so as to not neglect his duty as King. Her husband was busy doing many duties around Winterfell; usually he was in the godswood that she had never visited before. Sometimes he was with Benjen and Maester Luwin; sometimes he'd hunt with his brother and not return until the next day. She let him be, she knew he missed his home dearly and was grateful for the time spent here again. He would also pay respects to his sister Lyanna often.

She let Dany call her 'Mama' now. Just like what Ned said, it would be of no use if she corrected her now; she was a mere babe and would not understand what she meant. There would be plenty of time to correct her in the future; once she started grooming the child to be a proper lady. So far she had not thought of any betrothals for the child, but she knew Mace Tyrell had a son—his heir and successor—who was not betrothed yet.

The ladies around would tell her all about the North—there were things she already knew and she things did not know. Most common was the gossip—which surprised her, for she always thought that things around this part were quiet, quaint, dull. She listened to them attentively—still surprised by many things she never knew.

On her fifth moon of child-bearing she went to the maester again to have herself examined. Her babe had yet to stir, but she'd been feeling fluttering and knew it would only be a short time before she would actually feel it move inside her. Her husband was not present, as he was off resolving a problem in the Dreadfort with his brother, Benjen. He had told her that he would return late at night, or the day after. She allowed him to go to such things as she knew that he was simply doing his duty as King. This also gave him time to be with his brother who he hadn't been with for a long time.

Her belly was quite noticeable, and whenever she went out for her walk everyone would look at it; some wished her well but others simply said their graces and returned back to what they were doing beforehand.

"How do you fare, your Grace?" asked the maester.

"I am fine," said Cersei as she laid on the wooden examination table.

"Have you been feeling any discomfort as of late, your Grace? Any unusual pains?" Maester Luwin said as he felt around Cersei's belly. "The babe seems to be fine, my Queen. But if you have been feeling something—even the littlest pain—you must tell immediately."

"No, I have not been feeling anything," said Cersei, "Only the fluttering. And yes, I'll be sure to go to you if the need arises."

"You may start feeling the babe move around you in a few weeks' time, your Grace," Maester Luwin replied, "The fluttering is normal. Keep safe, my Queen. You and the babe seem healthy, your Grace, but please do not take chances."

"I will not," said Cersei, "Whatever it is I need to do I will do for the sake of the babe's life."

She gave her thanks before leaving. The day passed quickly, and night soon came. She spent the remaining time with Jon and Dany, watching over them as they ran around in the grounds. Dinner passed, and finally, deciding on sleeping instead of waiting for her husband to return. She slept fitfully, only to wake a few hours later to the sound of the door to her chambers opening. She sat up, quickly, and saw her husband by the doorframe. She could tell he did not mean to wake her and was sorry. She wondered why he was here, he knew she was slumbering and could not make love to him on such a condition.

"Cersei," he rasped, "I apologize. I did not mean to—"

"It is quite alright," said Cersei, blinking her eyes to get accustomed to the light from the candles the maids just lit. She took a good look at her husband—he was slightly dirty, in need of a bath. His hair was tangled, matted. She supposed he went straight to her chambers after arriving—she wondered why. She noticed his gaze on her; as if he wanted to take her here and now. It was enough to make desire pool in her belly. It was enough to wet her entrance. It made her blush—due to her child-bearing, her hormones were at a high which made her react to him quickly whenever they coupled. This was not an exception.

"Prepare a bath for my husband," said Cersei, "Quickly. Your King is in need of a bath."

She saw Ned raise one of his eyebrows—so quickly that if she had blinked she would not have seen it. She stands, and her night shift falls from beneath her, bunching up at her ever-growing stomach and dropping smoothly until her feet. She places a hand atop her belly, with her thumb moving in rhythmic circles, as if to soothe the babe inside her. She places her other hand below it, as if to support it.

"Does His Grace need something of me?" she inquires, a small smirk on her lips, "Has something happened?"

"No," said Ned, "I thought I'd opened the door to my quarters. I apologize."

"Your quarters are two hallways away," said Cersei, "Have you had wine tonight, then? I suppose that would explain why."

She was inching closer and closer to her husband. Their faces were an inch apart, their eyes were locked together, both in penetrating gazes. She feels as if her smallclothe is leaking with her womanly juices due to her deep longing for him to be in her. Just as he was about to speak, the maids had come back saying that they had finished preparing the bath. As soon as they were gone from her quarters, she grabbed ahold of his breeches and untied them. He pushed her to the wall, kissing her neck and making his mark as he ripped her nightshift and smallclothes off her and she removed his jerkin. He ran a finger over her entrance, making her moan and shiver. His finger glistened with her juices. He knelt, and suddenly his tongue was lapping at her cunt; her juices leaking nonstop as a digit joined his tongue, rhythmically moving in and out of her. She moaned loudly; unable to take the pleasure she was feeling.

When he was done, she guided her to the tub, letting him enter before she. They faced each other, taking each other in as both waited who would make the initial move. The water reached just above her breasts. He did, and lifted her breasts from the water and started fondling them, all swollen and tender as they prepared to make milk for the babe to come. She moved nearer to him, feeling his huge manhood touching her thigh. He pushed her back, making her lean backwards as she supported herself with her arms that were placed on the tub's sides. He penetrated her almost immediately, making her cry out slightly in pain, closing her eyes. Ned tensed at her reaction, and she reassured him immediately that it was fine. He held on to her waist as he pumped lazily in and out of her; his lips crashed onto hers, his tongue penetrated her mouth instantly.

Her pleasure was building up; it was coming soon, and her cunt's walls were beginning to tighten against her husband's cock. Finally, she came, and so did her husband. She gasped, accidentally scratching Ned's back with one hand. They waited until they came down from their high, both of them gasping for air. She bent over, leaning on Ned instead of the tub. He was still inside her; it hadn't occurred to him to remove himself inside her.

Suddenly, she felt it—the smallest movement from her stomach. Her babe was kicking up a storm. It was the first time she'd ever felt it. Her heart thumped wildly inside her chest, and she quickly took Ned's hands and placed them just below her abdomen where the babe was kicking. Her smile seemed to reach her ears as she felt her—their—babe move inside her.

"Is that...?" asked he. "Is it hurting you?"

"Yes," said Cersei, a big smile on her face. Her babe was moving; kicking; alive. She would have this child no matter what the consequences were; it would live, it would grow up and someday, have children of its own and grow old. Her heart seemed full of... love. Not for her husband, but for the babe growing inside of her. She could not bear losing another child; she'd make sure everything goes well with this one. "No, no yet. But once the babe grows enough it will."

It took them a while to get over the euphoria of getting to feel their child move for the first time. They bathed together; quietly, almost serenely. They had not bothered putting on clothes once finished. They stood up, dried themselves off, and went immediately to the bed, spent from their coupling. Cersei slept on her side, one protective hand under her belly. Ned draped his arm around her and moved her closer to him; she could not move any more. It did not take them both a long time to sleep; when they were positioned and ready they'd both drifted on to their own slumber; their rhythmic breaths the only thing heard inside Cersei's quarters

She wakes to a bright new day. The sun cast its rays upon her face; her golden tresses seemed to be the sun itself under the light. A curtain of deep crimson hangs from the sides of the four-poster bed she was in. She looks closely at the ceiling and sees a painting of a lion surrounded in gold; its teeth bared and claws extended as if to strike an enemy. The rest of the ceiling was adorned with red and gold trimmings; the walls were painted with delicate patterns of gold and red as well. Her heart skips a beat— _where was she_? This place did not seem familiar to her.

Suddenly, someone moves beside her. She sits up, the blanket covering her falling; exposing her night shift from beneath it. Her hand flies to her stomach—the bulge is still there; unchanged. The babe kicks her hard against the ribs, making her wince. She soothingly rubs the part, making circles with her thumb in an effort to help the pain recede. A hand suddenly wraps around her arm, and a voice says, "Cersei."

She knew that voice. She would know who it belonged to, even after years and years on end. She'd never forget that voice. It was one she hadn't heard in two years.

 _Jaime_.

She turns to look at him. He looked the same, but his eyes were brighter and bolder and happier than she'd last seen them.

"Good morning, my Queen," he says, a large grin forming on his face. "Tell me—"

"—Are you planning on pleasuring your King this fine morning?"

 _Queen. King._

"Jaime," Cersei breathes, ignoring his question. "Where are we?"

"Where else would we be?" says Jaime, "Have you hit your head, sweet sister?"

His arm wraps around her waist, and pulls her down carefully and moves her to him. He crashes his lips unto hers almost immediately, and his hand fondles one of her soft, tender breasts. They both pull out after a minute, gasping for air.

"Sleep, Cersei," he replies, "We've a big day ahead of us. You'll need the energy."

He stands, and grabs his jerkin and breeches off the tabletop. He changes, and leaves his nightclothes on the floor, knowing that the servants would clean up afterwards.

A knock resonates from the door, making her snap her head towards it. "Mother? Father?" A tiny voice says from behind. The door opens slightly afterwards, revealing a little girl with golden tresses that spanned her back and stopped just above her spine. Her emerald eyes lit up at the sight of them both awake, and she runs towards Jaime, who lifts her high up in the air.

"Father!" she giggles, flailing her arms at Jaime who seemed delighted to see her. He settles the child on his hips, and says, "Happy name day, my dearest Joanna. Your mother and I love you very much."

It was a sight to behold. From what had just transpired, she could tell many things. She was Queen; and Jaime was King. They had a daughter named Joanna, and a celebration was to happen in commemoration of her nameday. She finds herself standing and leaving the bed. She then walked slowly, almost hesitantly, towards Jaime and Joanna. She stops just in front of them, and just as she was about to caress the child's cheek Jaime said, "You have betrayed me, Cersei."

He suddenly puts Joanna down and faces her, his expression one of anger and hate. She'd never seen him like this—except for the nightmare she'd had that made her lose her precious Rickard. "This is all that we could have had," he said, "Had you not married the honourable Ned Stark."

It could not be happening. Not again.

"You love him," Jaime accused, "Do not lie. You love Ned Stark."

"I do not." she said firmly, "I've only ever loved y—"

"Do not lie, Cersei!" He shouts; he grabs her arms with both his hands and pulls her to him. "You can't lie to me, sweet sister."

"I am not," she says, "Jaime, please—"

She is cut off by the sudden searing pain on her cheek. The blow from Jaime is enough to make her fall and cry in pain. Luckily, she was able to support herself with her hands at the last minute. _This was not her Jaime._ Her Jaime was brave, willful, kind. Jaime was the only person she loved besides her children. This man was not her Jaime; he was merely a pigment of her imagination. This man was a dream—this man was a nightmare. Jaime would never do to her what this man had just done.

"You lie, Cersei." He pulls her up harshly; suddenly she feels a sharp, searing pain erupting from within her. _No. It cannot be._ "I'll kill the babe inside of you if it meant stopping you from loving him."

"Jaime, please," she cried, "Stop."

"You cannot love Ned Stark, sweet sister," he says, "You're mine, Cersei. _Mine_. I'd cross the seas for you, I'd kill every man on Westeros if it meant having you for my own."

"Please, Jaime," she begged; the pain from within her becoming too much to bear. "You're hurting—"

She jolts awake, sobbing. She gasps for air; she feels Ned sit up immediately beside her. She panics, and immediately fumbles and feels the mattress beneath her in fear. It was dry, not even damp—a weight lifted from her; yet the tears would not stop falling. She wraps her arms around her belly as Ned holds her from behind.

"Cersei," he rasps, "Cersei."

"The babe," she stutters out, "I cannot—I cannot lose it, Ned."

"You will not," said Ned, "I promise you, Cersei."

He holds her the rest of the night. It took her hours on end to stop sobbing; she leant against Ned the whole time. She does not remember when she fell asleep; only that her husband was with her the entire time, comforting her by whispering words of promise that their child would be born safe and healthy.

Her child-bearing passes by in a breeze afterwards. She slept with Ned every single night in fear of another nightmare occurring; one that would prove fatal to her child. They kept close to each other; Ned always seemed to have a protective stance when it came to her. Her belly bloomed, soon enough she was in her final moon of child-bearing, waiting for the babe to come any minute. Though heavily pregnant, she and Ned would still have couplings, only this time they were more creative with their positions so as to avoid accidentally hurting her belly.

The children were learning to speak in phrases, now, and Cersei usually guided them by talking to them nonstop when she was with them. They seemed to be excited by the prospect of finally having a new playmate asides from each other.

The time finally comes one afternoon, after she had finished her occasional walk through the grounds and was about to spend time with Jon and Dany yet again.

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 **Thank you so much for all your reviews! I cannot believe I reached 142! Do you guys think we can reach** ** _150_** **with this? I appreciate all reviews, and if you have an idea regarding the story's plotline, don't hesitate to tell me!**


	12. xii

**Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire.**

 **First off, I'm incredibly sorry for the lack of updates. Trust me, this story is not abandoned. Uni was getting the best of me; I'd wanted high grades so I focused on work and wasn't able to write for so long. But now I have a lot of time on my hands so expect bountiful updates. I hope. This chapter is unedited, by the way, so I apologize if ever there're a lot of spelling mistakes and typographical errors.**

 **Anywho, thank you so much for all your reviews! They mean the world to me. Here's the new chapter, I hope you enjoy and please** _review_ **.**

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 **Chapter Twelve**

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They had a son. A beautiful baby boy, black of hair and grey of eyes just like his father. He was all North, he had not a drop of South in him. He had Cersei's cheekbones— barely noticeable with all his father's features on his face—and nothing else.

The birth itself was tiring. She was in the birthing bed for almost a day after the pains had started in the afternoon; each hour that passed intensified her fear more. What if it was a sign that something was wrong with the babe? Maester Luwin eased her fears by telling her that it was normal and each child was different; some took longer and some took shorter. By the time she needed to push the child out she was exhausted and almost couldn't. Ned was with her throughout. He held her hand as the pains came; he did not leave even as he hungered and warranted rest. His presence calmed her. Both the maester and the midwife persuaded him to go stay outside the chamber for it wasn't a place for a man except the maester but he had refused and remained firm in his decision to stay.

He remained just until it was time to expel the child out of her. He had wanted to stay even then, but she herself had asked him to leave because she didn't want him to see her in pain; in weakness. He obliged, and as soon as he left she let out an ear-piercing scream. Her body seemed to be on fire; she had a strong, iron grip on the sheets of the bed it felt like it was going to rip. Her fear multiplied tenfold by then. She had carried the babe for moons on end hoping that it would be born healthy; without disease. She would finally know whether the babe defied what Maester Pycelle had told her: that if she truly was able to birth a child the chances were high that it would be addled with disease or abnormality.

The babe slipped out of her quickly. She had heaved and pushed the hardest; her vision had darkened almost to a point of blindness. She thought her body would succumb to the pain and she would faint; but thankfully it hadn't. The sweet sound she heard after the last push she'd made almost moved her to tears. Her babe's wails were music to her ears. She demanded the child be handed to her at once.

"A prince, your Grace," said the maester, "A healthy one. He shows no sign of any abnormality, my Queen."

Her heart soared at the news. Luwin handed her the babe; he fit soundly in her arms. He stopped crying the moment he settled in her hold. He was perfect; all ten fingers and toes. She rocked him slowly back and forth with an arm as her finger caressed his soft cheek. He cooed at her and waved his tiny arms wildly.

She barely noticed as the midwife and her assistants delivered the afterbirth and cleaned her up. They rubbed her clean of the blood and laid new, clean sheets on the bed. They quietly dispersed afterwards; and soon enough she was left all alone with her child inside the room. She was not by her lonesome for long; her husband entered immediately afterwards and proceeded by her bedside. She smiled at him, and tilted her arms in order for him to see their new son.

"A son," she said, "What should we name him?"

"You may choose what you like," said Ned. He could not keep his eyes off their child. Hesitantly, he reached out a hand and covered the babe's head. She sees his lips turn upwards to a smile, and finds herself smiling as well.

"I would like for you to name him," said Cersei, "Have you a name in mind?"

She sees him hesitate; it takes him a full minute to answer. Finally, he decides and says, "Robb." "His name is Robb."

"Robb," says she, trying out her new son's name for the first time. Robb after Robert Baratheon; her husband's friend who had died on the way home due to a festered wound caused by Rhaegar that he left untreated. "It suits him well. Robb Stark, the new prince."

Her heart overflowed with love—love for the babe she now held in her arms. He would grow up to be happy, that she would make sure. He would be happy, just as his siblings would be. "Would you like to hold him?" she offered.

Ned shakes his head and says, "I might drop him, Cersei."

"You will not," she replies, looking at him with a smile. "I will guide your arms."

She carefully places Robb in Ned's arms, fixing them so the babe's head and back were well supported. Robb coos again and flails his arms and feet. Ned stares at him, transfixed. After a while, he says, "Thank you, Cersei." "You have given me another son."

She remembers her son, Rickard, and her heart pangs for him. She loved him still, just like any mother would. He would be of Jon's age if he were still alive. She still pains for him—and she knows that she'll never stop. Yet the pain seemed less now; like a distant memory, a wound that had almost healed.

She looked at her husband square in the eyes and planted her lips unto his. She pulled out not a minute later with a grin.

Suddenly, Robb starts to fuss in her husband's arms. Not a minute later he was crying, which caused Cersei to take him from Ned. Robb must be hungry—she hadn't fed him yet. She slipped down one sleeve from her thin slip, exposing her breast. Robb latched onto her nipples and sucked; her breasts felt tender and heavy but now that the babe was born they would go back to their normal size in no time.

The door suddenly bursted open, revealing both Dany and Jon.

"Daenerys!" Synda scolds the child, trying to get ahold of her before she could go and run towards Cersei and Ned. She failed however; and not a moment later Dany was by her side, wanting to get a look of Robb. Jon was still by Wylla, his wetnurse, no doubt waiting whether he could come forward. He looked as if he was keen on seeing Robb. His hair was all tangled, beads of sweat were on his face and he seemed to be catching up on his breath. Cersei could deduce right away that the children escaped from their wetnurses to come and go to where they were now.

"We apologize, your Graces," said Wylla, "The children wanted to see the new prince; we had forbid them to do so until your Grace, the Queen has had enough rest. They escaped from their rooms and we had to run after them."

"We apologize profusely, your Grace," said Synda, "We will return at another time."

"No," said Cersei, "Let the children see their new sibling."

With a smile that reached her ears Dany ran to her side—the one that Ned didn't occupy—and sat beside her. Jon followed, though he did not seem to be in a rush. He now seemed shy, even. He climbed up the bed on his father's side. Cersei tilted her arms so both of them could see Robb with ease. Dany seemed fascinated; Jon had a look on his face that she could not seem to pinpoint. Ned was watching the both of them; no doubt calculating what they both felt regarding Robb, just like what she was doing.

"Bwo-brother," Dany stated. She could now pronounce her Rs properly, although sometimes she'd have to repeat the word she was saying to get it right. Jon, on the other hand, still pronounced his letters the same. Dany seemed thrilled with Jon; it would mean that both she and Jon would have a new playmate soon. Jon seemed shy, although he too could not keep his eyes off Robb. He was now a big brother; she knew that Jon knew as much.

"Yes, my love," said Cersei, affectionately rubbing Dany's cheek with a finger. "His name is Robb."

Dany's purple eyes twinkled. "Wobb," said Jon quietly, "Small."

"Yes," said Ned. Cersei chuckled. "All babes are small when they are born, son."

"Papa," said Dany, "Robb small. Play?"

It was the first time Daenerys ever called Ned "Papa." She only ever called her 'Mama,' and whenever Ned was there she would always cower behind her. Cersei knew she would hear Jon address Ned as such, but she never thought Dany would take to calling Ned that as well. She did not know whether Ned would permit her to. After all, Daenerys was Aerys the Mad King's daughter and Rhaegar Targaryen, Daenerys' brother, caused the wound that Robert Baratheon died of. She wondered what Ned would say about it, although she knew that he would most likely correct her.

"Babes cannot play when they are small, Daenerys," said Ned. He did not correct her, to Cersei's surprise. "You must wait until Robb is old enough to."

Dany nodded. Cersei asked her if she wanted to hold the babe, to which Dany enthusiastically said 'yes.' She let her sit next to her, and put her arm around her and slowly laid Robb in her small arms. She was not afraid that Daenerys would drop the babe, as Cersei's own arms were underneath Dany's, adding to the support. Daenerys was fascinated. Robb cooed and babbled and, seeing Daenerys' smile, laughed. Cersei laughed as well, along with Jon. And surprisingly, Ned.

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A week later Ned left for King's Landing with only two of the Kingsguard. The lesser they were, the quicker they would get to the capital. He had been gone for almost seven moons; though he ruled Westeros through Winterfell during their stay they both knew it was not enough. King's Landing was a viper's nest, and though Ned trusted Jon Arryn, the Hand, he knew he needed to resume his role as King immediately else he wanted problems to arise. Ned did not want to leave them, but Cersei herself had convinced him to and reassured him that they would be alright. They would leave Winterfell as soon as Robb turned two moons old. Ned left her with a kiss that lingered on her lips long after he was gone.

She somehow missed her husband's presence around Winterfell. She spent the remaining days with the children, especially with Robb. She had become accustomed to the North, especially in Winterfell. She enjoyed the peacefulness of the place; it was always quiet unlike the South. Though the cold was harsh she'd become used to it, the furs were comfortable enough for her liking. The people were kind; the North did not have the intrigue the South had. She could picture her husband growing up in here, in the castle; a little boy who looked like Jon running about in the hallways and corridors.

She knew Ned had a sister, Lyanna, and that they were very close. Ned loved her sister; she knew that Lyanna's death affected him very much. He'd even visited her in the catacombs on the very same day that they arrived. He rarely talked about her.

The two moons passed by quickly; Robb grew each passing day. It was finally time for them to leave. Benjen and Maester Luwin bid them off; they were accompanied by the rest of the men and the Kingsguard that were left when Ned took off. Benjen made sure they were well-equipped and had food to last them all on their journey back to the capital. The journey lasted awhile; she could not wait to arrive in King's Landing and sleep in a nice, soft bed with her husband. They wore less fur each passing day. Robb now had a wetnurse; though Cersei wanted him all to herself she knew taking care of him while they were on their way to the capital would be a hard task. The wetnurse's name was Alyra, a woman with dark hair and eyes who gladly presented herself to be the prince's caretaker.

They arrived at the capital after almost a moon. Her husband was there to welcome them, he had a rare smile on his face though it was clear that he was not getting enough rest. She had thought to ask him later. They had their meals together; she asked him why and he had only told her that it was not of importance. He came to her that night, they had coupled and he took her four times before they both finally tired and succumbed to sleep.

The moons flew by in a breeze. She would usually visit Robb in his nursery and stay there for hours on end. Dany's, then Jon's, third nameday had passed. Cersei had not arranged a tourney to celebrate either of them, as she did not feel the need to. The children were now old enough to sit with both she and Ned during mealtimes without their wetnurses' guidance. They spoke in full sentences now; Dany had already perfected her pronunciation but Jon still seemed to be having trouble with his Rs. Daenerys talked nonstop, Jon was more on the quiet side.

She decided to visit Robb one night in his nursery when she could not sleep. Ned slept soundly beside her; but something she could not pinpoint was bothering her and she felt the need to go to Robb's nursery. The halls were eerily quiet; it sent shivers up her spine. It felt unsafe, though she quickly reassured herself when she remembered the Kingsguard guarding the entrance to the royal quarters. An intruder couldn't possibly get in.

She slowly and quietly opened the door to the room, and froze in horror. A man's back was facing her. She did not know this man; he did not seem to be from the Red Keep. She saw Alyra in her bed with blood flowing from her stomach. The man had Robb in an arm and a knife in his other arm's hand. He did not seem to hear the door opening. Just as he was about to plunge the knife into her babe's heart, she screamed.

"No!" she shouted and pushed the man, knocking his knife to the floor. He hit Robb's cradle, and almost dropped the babe. He quickly regained his balance, and turned to see who the assailant was. She did not know him, but he clearly knew who she was. She quickly scrambled to get his knife; he did as well but beat her to it. He knocked her to the floor and knelt on top of her, pinning her stomach down with a knee. She could not get away. He raised the knife high, and swooped down. Cersei stopped the blade from plunging inside her with both hands. Her palms bled, but she did not feel the pain. She could not let her son die. She could not let herself die, either.

She then heard the sound of running and armor clanking from the hallway. Suddenly, someone tackled the man to the ground. Robb remained safe in his arms, and was spared from the fall. She sat up and saw Ned, who had subsequently tackled the enemy to the ground. He had his sword out, and pointed it directly at the man's neck. She hoisted herself up, and ran to take her babe out of the assailant's arms. Blood flowed freely from her wound; it stained Robb's clothes.

"Take the Queen and the wetnurse to the maester," Ned ordered one of his men.

One of the men carried her in his arms; another tried to take her son away but she hissed at him and he stopped. The maester quickly cleaned and wrapped both her hands with bandages before attending to the wetnurse. It was high likely for the wetnurse to die with the amount of blood that had come out of her. Pycelle was able to save Alyra, but informed her once she woke up that due to the wound she'd sustained she would never again have children.

The guards guarding the royal quarters were doubled after the incident. Guards were now placed outside each chamber; no one could go in and out without being checked by a guard first. Ned could not wean anything from the man. He had told Cersei that the man would not speak whenever he asked him a question; he had no clues as to who hired him to kill Robb. The man was executed a fortnight later. Her palms were always painful; it killed her to use them. It would be a while before her wound was finally healed. Ned reassured her that it would never happen again. She had Robb moved to her—their—chamber. She didn't dare leave her eyes off her boy again.

Soon enough, Robb's first nameday had passed. He could now walk; he'd even said his first word which was 'Mama'. A tourney was arranged in celebration; they sent out invitations to each part of the Seven Kingdoms. Knights, lords, and ladies from every corner of Westeros came. Not just for the celebration, but because they had wanted to see the new prince who was said to look just like his father.

A letter comes to her one afternoon. She knew exactly where it was from based on the insignia on the seal. She read the letter's contents.

Her father was coming to the capital, along with Jaime and her dwarf brother, Tyrion.

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